


Stardust to Remember You By

by Sakharov



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pretty Woman Fusion, F/M, Prostitution, Rumbelle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 16:00:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 31,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3656382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakharov/pseuds/Sakharov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle is a prostitute and Gold is a successful businessman. Their paths cross when he's in New York for work and hires her for the week. He tells her he wants a professional because he doesn't want any romantic hassle, but as the days progress, what began as a business deal starts to develop into something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Chance Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "In that brief glance Vronsky had time to notice the restrained animation that played over her face and fluttered between her shining eyes and the barely noticeable smile that curved her red lips. It was as if a surplus of something so overflowed her being that it expressed itself beyond her will, now in the brightness of her glance, now in her smile."  
> \--from ANNA KARENINA

 

 Chapter 1: A Chance Meeting 

“Damn it, Gaston! This is why I pay people a great deal of money – so things like this do not happen,” Gold snapped irritably at his lawyer. He stood in the baggage claim area of JFK International Airport, having flown in from London that day only to find that there had been a communication error and his driver was still at the hotel.

“In the day to day course of things I expect problems to arise because that’s how life is, but not things resulting from nonsense like this,” Gold continued icily.

“I’m sorry sir,” said Gaston. He was thankful he was talking to Gold over the telephone and not face-to-face, because the distance made it easier to bear the brunt of the other man’s temper. “I can call the hotel and arrange for someone to go to the airport-“

“And I’m supposed to wait until this person arrives? I think not. I will rent a car.”

“Yes sir,” answered Gaston, and then he added timidly, “But sir, you could also take a taxi-“ His life would be much easier if his boss would take a taxi, because Gold was notoriously bad at following directions and if he tried to drive himself would likely end up lost, and then Gaston would never hear the end of it, but Gold could be very stubborn. Gaston was by no means a meek man – he had a well-deserved reputation for being a merciless cutthroat lawyer - but something about the man he worked for inspired respect and fear.

Gold was cold and calculating and cunning and always came off better in the deals he made. He had worked his way up from being the son of a sheepherder in northern Scotland to someone who had influence on the global markets. Today, in upscale restaurants and global capitals far removed from the humble sheep-herding Scottish town where he had been born, Gold bought and sold companies, managed investments, and was recognized internationally as a force to be reckoned with and someone who was not to be crossed.

“Absolutely not.” Gold cut him off. “I will rent a car. And Gaston, I expect someone to loose their job over this.”

“Yes sir. I will see to it,” said Gaston. “Have a good even-“ But Gold had hung up.

Gold looked around the baggage area and scowled. He had little patience for such carelessness. With some difficulty he gathered his bags and limped toward the car rental desks. His bad mood was alleviated briefly when he found that he could rent a Bentley – at least he could travel stylishly – but it returned in full force by the time he was pulling out of the car lot. It was almost dark – it was December and the night came early - and the sky promised snow and Gold hated driving in cities.

He had punched in the hotel’s address on his phone, but an hour and a few wrong turns later found Gold in a neighborhood far away from where he was supposed to be and with a dying phone battery. Darkness had fallen completely and it had started to snow. Cursing under his breath, Gold slowed the car. The part of the city he found himself in was run-down and had seen better days; the buildings were boarded-up or had broken windows and some of the streetlights were out. It was somewhere where you could buy anything, from women (there had been some young women, girls really, on a corner he had passed – he had shaken his head and frowned and driven on) to drugs and likely everything in-between.

***

Belle put the finishing touches on her makeup and shivered. Winter had arrived in New York in full force, and although when she was younger she had loved the snow, now the cold made business more difficult, because it meant people were less likely to be out looking for a good time. She had fallen behind on rent and her heat had been turned off the week before. 

Looking out the window, she sighed when she saw the snow. She didn’t want to go stand on the corner when it was so unlikely someone would drive by, but she had to at least try to scrape together some money. Her landlord had threatened to evict her the last time he’d seen her and she had nowhere else to go.

Stopping in front of the mirror, Belle glanced at her reflection. The woman who looked back at her was not someone she had ever thought she’d become, but times had gotten rough and when her friend Ruby suggested prostitution it had seemed an easy way to make money. Ruby had become a sort of mentor, helping her perfect her makeup and giving her pointers about what type of clothes to wear and how to stay safe. The outfit she was currently wearing – thigh-high black high-heeled boots and a short, tight, low-cut blue dress that matched her eyes – had been picked out by Ruby.

Belle made sure she had everything in her purse – condoms, cellphone, drivers license, some cash, keys – and, picking up her black leather coat, not that it would give her much protection from the elements but still, got ready to head out. As she walked down the stairs she sent off a quick text to Ruby – _out working the corner tonight, will txt you when home –_ and mentally prepared herself for the cold.

As she stood on the corner shivering, she told herself she didn’t have any other options. Her phone beeped with a message from Ruby – _better you than me, stay warm girlie –_ and she rolled her eyes. Belle glanced up at the overcast sky and the snowflakes drifting lazily to the ground and then back along the empty street. Hopefully at least someone will come by, she told herself. She was almost ready to call it a night and head back inside when there was the sound of a car and she shrugged off her coat and adopted a pose she hoped made her look seductive and not like someone wishing for frostbite.

A blue Bentley made its way slowly down the street and Belle felt a surge of hope. Surely someone with such a fancy car wouldn’t be in this neighborhood unless they were looking for companionship or drugs. And with such a nice car the chance was good the owner had a lot of money, and she could try to up her price.

It seemed that luck was on her side, because the car slowed to a stop close to her and the passenger side window was lowered. Belle walked over to the car and leaned against it, savoring the blast of warm air from the heater.

“Hey mister,” she said, propping her elbows on the window and peering inside. “Are you looking for someone special on this cold winter evening?” She made sure as she leaned in to take full advantage of the low-cut of the dress.

The man in the car was older, but distinguished looking. His hair was longer than men his age usually wore it, but it suited him. There was a hardness in his face and he looked like someone accustomed to getting his way.

His eyes flickered from her face to her chest, but then determinedly back to her face. He frowned and her heart sank, but then he said, “I need to get to Central Park. Can you give me directions?”

“No problem,” she said, then impulsively added, “For twenty bucks.” She figured he was far his destination and no one else was on the street, so at least she would make something that night.

“You can’t charge for giving directions,” he retorted.

“Sure I can. I’m not the one who’s super lost,” she countered, raising an eyebrow boldly at him.

His eyes studied her face for a moment, and then he said, with the smallest of smiles, “Fine. Twenty dollars and you give me directions to Central Park.”

“Done,” she said, but she had only just begun to recite directions when he frowned again and cut her off.

“Can you drive a stick-shift?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, curious what he was getting at.

“Then what about this. Fifty dollars and you drive. The Ritz-Carlton by Central Park. How does that sound, Miss…?”

“French. Belle French,” Belle supplied and grinned. “It sounds like you have yourself a deal.” Fifty dollars was what she usually charged for an hour and he was offering it to her simply for driving him. Even if she couldn't convince him to keep her around, the night wouldn't be a total failure.

He turned off the car and got out. As he started to walk around the car, Belle could see that he was dressed quite nicely – three piece Italian suit, no doubt very expensive – and that even though he walked with a limp, there was an elegance to the way he moved. She started to walk around the front of the car, and they almost bumped into each other as they crossed in front of it.  She took a quick step back, and almost slipped on the snow. He quickly grabbed her arm, steadying her.

“Careful, dearie,” he said quietly.

They both paused, his hand still on her arm, and golden eyes met blue eyes. They regarded each other for a moment, each studying the other’s face, but then he dropped his hand and Belle moved aside to let him pass and the moment was gone.

She settled in to the driver’s seat, excited for the opportunity to drive such a fancy car. He slid into the passenger’s seat and handed her the keys. At first they drove in silence, but at a traffic light she turned to look at him and caught him looking at her. When their eyes met she smiled and he looked away.

“So,” she said. ”Where are you from?”

“London.”

“Right, but what about before that? Your accent is Scottish…northern Scotland, if I’m correct. Far to the north.”

“I’m impressed, Miss French. Aye, I was born in Stromness, on the Orkney Islands, about as far north as one can go in Scotland.”

She chanced a glance at him again and saw that he was looking at her curiously. 

“My mum was Australian, but Dad was British and in the army, so we moved around a lot and spent a decent amount of time in northern England,” she said, hopeing she had chanced on something that might spark a conversation and a connection and cause him to think about keeping her around for more than just driving. “And I’ve always had an ear for languages. So you come from the land of Gawain and Gaheris, Gareth, and Mordred, Knights of-” 

“Knights of King Arthur’s table. Aye, I’m well versed in Arthurian lore.” He sounded amused.

From that, a discussion about King Arthur and places of historic interest in Great Britain began. Although Belle did most of the talking, as the King Arthur stories were some of her favorite and she had loved tracking down special places when her family had lived in England, the man was definitely listening and would make interesting contributions to the conversation. 

Belle was almost sorry to arrive at their destination, as it had been a long time since she had someone to discuss literature with. She pulled in in front of the hotel, and they both got out.

The valet immediately came over and took the keys and someone else from the hotel hurried over. “Mr. Gold, welcome to New York. We’re so pleased you’ve arrived. We’ll have your bags taken up to your rooms right away.”

“Well, Mr. Gold,” she said to him, impressed by the respect he commanded and realizing that she had only just learned his name. “I suppose I’ll be on my way.”

***

Gold pulled out a fifty from his wallet and handed it to her. She tucked in into her dress, presumably into her bra, and flashed him a smile that made his heart beat a little faster.

Mentally reprimanding himself to get it together, he asked her what her plans were for that night. It was very cold and she was hardly wearing anything.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, sounding entirely too cheerful for the weather. “Hopefully pick up another client, but I’ll figure things out. I always do.”

And with that she turned and started to walk away, probably purposefully walking so that her hips swayed in a particularly alluring manner. But although she put up a good front, he could tell that she was trying not to shiver and as he watched her, he thought that she was much too slim, probably from too many missed meals.

Cursing himself for his soft-heartedness – she was a prostitute after all – he called after her. There was something about her that got to him, maybe the sharp intelligence behind those brilliant blue eyes, or her smile.

“Wait, Miss French! What is your going rate?”

 


	2. A Proposition

“Wait, Miss French! What is your going rate?” The words hung in the cold air behind her.

Belle paused and turned to regard the man. Gold was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, both hands on his cane, his face unreadable. 

She walked slowly back towards him, trying not to let her excitement at having a potential customer show. Even though fifty was her typical rate, Gold seemed like someone who wouldn’t have any trouble paying more. Maybe she could even get the heat turned back on after tonight. Stopping quite close to him, she put her hands on her hips and looked up at his face. 

“$100,” Belle said, trying to sound sure of herself, as if that was what she always charged, and trying not to let the cold or her desperation show. “For an hour.”

A stony look passed over Gold’s face, but then he said, “Very well. Would you care to accompany me to my rooms?” The words came stiffly and he seemed uncomfortable saying them, like this wasn’t something he had done before. 

“I would love to,” said Belle, and she reached out to brush snow from his hair, her fingers pushing back his hair and then ghosting along his jaw. He pulled away from her touch and stepped back, his expression guarded, but after glancing toward the hotel entrance and then back at her, his expression softened. He pulled off his overcoat and handed it to her.

“You might want to put this on,” he said wirily, a trace of a smile on his face. “The hotel is accustomed to its guests…dressing a certain way, shall we say?”

“You meant they might disapprove of my dress?” Belle said in mock outrage. But she took the coat from him and put it on, buttoning it all the way up. It was warm and woolen and probably quite expensive and it smelled like him.

“Unfortunately I think they would not,” he answered sorrowfully, but his eyes gave away that he was teasing. 

Offering her his arm, Gold said, “Shall we, Miss French?” And he smiled at her, a small smile but a smile nonetheless.

“After you, Mr. Gold,” she said, smiling back and taking his arm. 

They walked together into the hotel, and Belle felt like she had stepped into an alternate universe from the one where she lived normally, a world with money and prestige and fame and fancy cars and designer clothes. This was a place for people with a great deal of money, people who had done things in the world, people who mattered. It was no place for someone like her. She instinctively pressed closer to Gold, very conscious of her cheap clothes and overdone makeup. 

If Gold felt at all awkward with her by his side, he didn’t show it. As they approached the desk, he let go of her arm with a murmured “Excuse me, my dear,” to shake hands with the man behind the counter. Belle stayed back a few steps, trying to pretend like she belonged in such an upscale hotel and missing his presence by her side.

“Good evening, Jefferson,” said Gold.

“Ah, Mr. Gold, welcome back to New York!” said the Jefferson warmly. His eyes glanced over to Belle but for the most part stayed on Gold. “The penthouse suite is prepared, complete with the bottle of Macallan 25 at the bar.”

Gold pocked the room keys and offered his arm to Belle again. As they walked to the elevator Belle was conscious of people staring, but she drew comfort from the fact that Gold seemed to ignore them, and she remembered what Ruby had said when she first started working the street corner, that in the profession they had chosen one really couldn’t care very much what other people thought. So she held her head high and smirked ever so slightly. She was the one with Gold, she was the one going to the penthouse. 

But Gold didn’t say anything in the elevator or as he unlocked the room, and Belle felt increasingly strange. This wasn’t how her nights usually went, and Gold definitely wasn’t like her normal clients. But he was just a man, and he had hired her, and she felt sure that soon enough the night would return to territory she was familiar with.

He pushed open the door to the penthouse and Belle couldn’t help from gasping. It was a whole suite of rooms, and bore closer resemblance to a fancy apartment than a hotel room. There was a living room, a bar, a dining area, and at least two bedrooms. The many windows offered wonderful views of the city and the décor of the room was fancier than any place Belle had ever stayed.

Hanging up his overcoat in the closet she went to stand in the middle of the living room and turned in a circle, taking everything in. 

“Wow,” she breathed as she turned back to look at Gold. “What a view.”

He hadn’t come very far into the rooms and he was standing watching her with a small crooked smile. “Aye, dearie, it is the top floor. I always stay on the top floor; I like to be able to see the sky.”

Belle cocked her head at Gold, studying him, but his face didn’t give anything away. It was time to bring the night back onto solid ground.

She sauntered over to where he was standing and put her hands on his chest, smoothing his coat lapels. He stiffened at her touch but let her push him against the wall. She pressed into him, kissing along his jaw. He tilted he head so she could have better access, and she moved her mouth the sensitive skin by his ear. 

As she ground her hips into him, Gold made a small sound in the back of his throat and moved his hands to her waist, and Belle felt more assured. This was how this type of thing was supposed to go. 

But as she moved her hands to undo his tie, he ever so gently pushed her away.

“No,” Gold said, but she could see his eyes had darkened with desire and his breathing was ragged. Arousal roughened his voice and brought out his accent. It was quite the charming accent, she decided.

“No,” he said again, moving so that the table was between them. “Not now, not like this. Would… would you like a drink? Maybe we can talk.” He motioned to the bar. 

Belle stayed on the other side of the table and propped her elbows on the back of a chair. He wasn’t at all what she would have expected of someone with so much money, but she supposed she didn’t really know him at all. 

“Whatever you want,” she said, trying to read him. “It’s just… most men don’t want to spend their hour talking.”

Gold didn’t answer right away, but poured out drinks and pushed one glass across the table. Taking a sip of his, he nodded. “Quality scotch this,” he said. “From the old country.”

“So Miss French,” he said, looking at her. “What would your going rate be for a week?”

Belle had been about to sample the scotch when the question was posed, and her surprise resulted in her taking a much larger gulp than she intended and she choked ands started coughing.

“Easy, dearie,” he said, an amused look on his face. “That’s expensive scotch, meant to be sipped, not spewed across the table.”

“A week?” she said, once she was able to speak again. “You’re serious?”

“Aye,” he said. “I’m in the city for a week on business. There will be dinners, lunches, a night at the opera, and possibly other events. It would be greatly beneficial for me to appear to have a date.”

Belle nodded, trying to process what he was asking. A week! And how much could she ask? Money didn’t seem to be an object for him… Fixing on an amount, she squarely met his gaze.

“Five thousand, for the week.”

He raised an eyebrow, as if amused. “Very well. Five thousand for the week, and you will be there whenever I require it.”

“We have a deal,” Belle answered, wondering if she should have asked for more. “But I do have some rules. I want two thousand up front. And I don’t kiss on the mouth.”

His mouth twitched, as if he wanted to smile at that, and he said, “You’ll have the money in the morning. And your other stipulation will not be a problem. If that is settled, I have some work to do. You can make yourself at home.” And he sat down at the table and opened his briefcase.

“All right,” she said, still not quite sure what she had agreed to. “But…I have a question. With your money you could get a million girls for free…why hire me?”

He glanced up, an unreadable look on his face. “I decided a professional would be better. I don’t want any romantic hassle. Also, I think there’s champagne and chocolate covered strawberries in the refrigerator, if champagne is more to your taste than scotch.”

Sure enough, Belle found both in the fridge, and after a glance at Gold, who seemed fixed on his papers, she sat on the floor in the living room part of the suite, leaning against the sofa and flicking through channels on the TV. 

She found a channel showing Casablanca, and after asking Gold if the noise bothered him, settled into watch. After sending a quick text to Ruby assuring her that all was well, she tried to focus on the film – she did love Humphrey Bogart – but concentration proved elusive, as where she was and what she had agreed to kept reoccupying her mind. As Ingrid Bergman’s character was imploring the pianist in Rick’s Café to play “As Time Goes By,” Belle decided she would try to enjoy the week. $5,000 was enough for her to start over afterwards and Gold seemed like a decent enough man. Maybe she would even have fun pretending be his date, pretending she belonged in his world.

**

Gold sat at the table looking at the papers spread out on the table but he kept glancing over to the living room, where he could see the top of Belle’s head over the back of the sofa. 

He couldn’t quite believe he had hired her for the week, but he hadn’t been able to leave her out in the snow. Although many men of similar financial situations would do so, he never considered hiring prostitutes – he wouldn’t even go to strip clubs. The idea of paying for sex and intimacy was inherently offensive to him, and he thought less of the men who did it, and especially how they treated the women and would talk about them after. And now he had a prostitute in his hotel room. His jaw clenched as he remembered that she had initially only charged $100 for an hour. How did she ever get by in New York City? He didn’t want to think about that.

Gold shook his head. Having a date might actually be beneficial for the business events and it would ward off unwanted inquiries into his personal life. She was smart and charming enough that he felt sure she wouldn’t embarrass him. He might even enjoy her company – it had been a long time since he had had a woman in his life, or even someone to talk about things other than business with. A long time ago he had put up walls and adopted the cold, uncaring front to block out the pain, and while such a posture proved beneficial in business, it was not conducive to forming relationships, friendly or romantic. 

**

Around the part in the film where Ingrid Bergman’s character was telling Humphrey’ Bogart’s character that she still loved him, Gold turned off the light and came over to sit on the sofa. He had taken off his vest and shoes and enough light came into through the windows that Belle could see that he looked tired.

As the film drew to an end, Belle moved to sit next to Gold on the sofa. She made sure the fabric of her dress rode up and she smiled to herself as his eyes flicked down to her legs. She reached out to slide a hand along his leg, her fingers trailing along his inner thigh.

“What are you doing?” breathed Gold.

Belle leaned over to whisper in his ear and ran a hand through his hair. “What you hired me for.”

“I didn’t hire you for this,” said Gold, but his voice caught.

“I think we both know that’s not true,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the soft skin beneath his ear. “What do you want?” 

“What do you do?” His voice had roughened. 

“Everything.” 

“I thought you said you don’t kiss,” Gold reminded her.

“Oh, I kiss, just not on the mouth.” She sucked on the pulse point below his ear and she heard the sharp intake of his breath. 

Pulling back, she saw Gold looked uncertain and flushed, as if maybe he really had only hired her to be his date, but he wasn’t protesting, so Belle closed the small gap between them and slid into his lap, straddling him. Gently grinding into him, he moved his hands to her waist and she pushed back his hair. As their eyes met, she felt a surge of something in her stomach and quickly broke the gaze.

Ducking her head to trail kisses down his neck, she felt his pulse flutter just under the skin, and moved her hands to his tie. This time he didn’t stop her. Belle pulled off the tie and undid the first few buttons of his shirt. Kissing along his collarbone, she smiled when he gasped, his grip on her tightening. She could feel that he was getting hard. After she had undone about half of his shirt buttons, she leaned back to look at his face, thinking how to proceed.

For his part, Gold stayed still, which surprised Belle. She would have thought he would be someone who wanted to take control, but he just sat there, watching her, with his shirt unbuttoned and his hair disheveled. 

Grabbing one of the pillows on the couch, Belle put it on the floor and positioned herself between his legs. She ran her hands slowly up his thighs to undo his belt and pull off his pants and he made a small, desperate noise in the back of his throat. 

It was incredibly quiet in the room and Belle could hear the way Gold’s breathing changed, getting short and quick as she lowered her head to slowly kiss her way up his thigh. 

“Belle…please…” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper and his hands had come to tangle in her hair. 

Smiling against his thigh, she finally took him in her mouth and got to work.


	3. Dinner

Belle woke up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. She had been debating whether to follow him into the bedroom and she must have fallen asleep on the sofa. She sat up and peered over the back of the sofa. 

Gold was sitting at the dining room table, immaculately dressed, a cup of coffee and the newspaper in front of him. He didn’t notice that Belle was awake, and she snuck into the bathroom to check that her hair and makeup were all right. Putting her hair up into a bun and dabbing at her mascara, she thought that she would have to duck back to her apartment at some point to get a change of clothes and her makeup bag. Maybe while Gold was at business meetings, or whatever else he was in New York to do. 

Leaving the bathroom, she approached the table. 

“Hey,” she said.

“Good morning, Miss French,” said Gold briskly, looking up from the newspaper. A touch of color colored his cheeks as he looked up, but his voice was more business-like than anything. “Please, help yourself to coffee or tea, and there is fruit and pastries on the table. The chocolate croissants are especially good. And your money is on the table.”

She poured herself a cup of coffee and settled into a chair across from Gold, and helped herself to a croissant and some grapes.

“So,” Belle said, to say something, as he was just watching her silently, “what are you up to today?”

“I have business meetings lined up during the day, and we” – there was a definite emphasis on the we, and he watched her face for a reaction – “have a business dinner tonight. I will pick you up in the hotel lobby at 7.”

“Ok,” she said. “I was thinking I would go back to my apartment during the day, to get some more clothes.”

“Actually,” he said, looking critically at her now crumpled dress, “I think this might be more believable if you were to get yourself some new clothes.” He pulled out his wallet, and held out a credit card. “Use my card, and get whatever you would like. We have tickets to the opera tomorrow, to see Eugene Onegin, and there will be more events over the course of the week.”

Belle looked at the offered card skeptically. “You’re not joking? You’re actually giving me your credit card? I don’t think the people at the stores will let me use it.”

Gold tore a piece off the newspaper and wrote something on it, then handed it to her. “My phone number. If anyone gives you a hard time, tell them to call me. That should be enough.” 

“Ok…” said Belle uncertainly. “But aren’t you worried about how much I might spend?”

“No,” Gold answered with a shrug. “The card will max out if you attempt to spend too much.” 

She didn’t know how to answer that, and so she took the card, thinking how nice it would be to have that much money. 

Belle sat back, sipping her coffee, and watched him as he resumed reading the paper. Looking at the card in her hand, she saw that it said Bertrum Gold and gave a small snort of laughter.

Gold looked up, a question on his face, and she explained that she hadn’t expected his name to be Bertrum. He grimaced and said he had never been fond of his name. 

“Well, I’ll have to think of a nickname then, won’t I?” she said, smiling at the look of distaste on his face.

“If you would like,” he said, with a trace of a smile on his face. “Do let me know when you think of one, dearie.” And he went back to reading the paper.

Setting down her cup, she reached out her foot and nudged his leg. He looked up, startled, and she smiled as his breath caught when she ran her toes up his lower leg and then higher. 

Gold leaned back as she ran her toes along his inner thigh. He closed his eyes as she moved her foot up further, and made a small sound of longing. She continued to do so as she felt him begin to stiffen and his breath grew shorter. 

Belle ducked under the table to continue what she had begun, and Gold pushed his chair back to allow her better access. She situated herself once more between his legs, and at first she just stroked him through his trousers. Soon he was shifting restlessly and his hands moved to undo his belt. She stilled his hands by placing hers on top, and then undid his belt herself, pulling down his pants and boxers, and took him in her mouth to finish.

Afterwards, he stood up abruptly and turned his back to her as he resituated himself, zipping up his pants, buckling his belt, tucking in his shirt. When he turned back to face Belle, his face was still flushed but there was a softness that hadn’t been there before. When he spoke, that softness was in his voice too, although a rough edge still lingered.

“…thank you.” He sounded like he felt awkward thanking her. “I should head out.”

Belle watched him as he picked up his briefcase, putting it on the table to double-check he had all his papers, a trace of red still in his cheeks, and she felt a surge of affection for him. He was so different than any other client, really so different than anyone else she knew.

“Wait,” she said, as he turned to go. Pulling a rose from the floral arrangement on one of the side tables, she walked over to him and threaded the flower through the buttonhole on his coat. “There, “ she said with a smile. “Now you’re ready to go.”

Gold blinked, clearly surprised at her gesture. He raised a hand, and she thought he was going to remove the rose, but he merely adjusted it, lowering his head to smell it. Belle noticed that when he pulled on his overcoat, he was careful not to dislodge the flower.

“Thank you, Miss French,” he said quietly, almost shyly, with that small smile. “Happy shopping. I’ll see you at 7.”

“Until then,” Belle said, smiling back. “Have a good day.”

After he had left, Belle stood in the middle of the suite of rooms, trying to process the past 24 hours. In the end, she decided she shouldn’t overthink it, and, smiling broadly, thought about all the shopping she was about to do.

Belle spent a wonderful day, visiting stores she would never even have looked at before, and treating herself to a fancy lunch, all on Gold’s card, of course. She returned to the hotel laden with bags and packages - dresses, shoes, a new coat, slacks, blouses, blazers, new makeup that was more suitable for her role as Gold’s date, a silky nightdress, a new purse – mildly surprised his card hadn’t stopped working part way through the day. 

She made sure to return to the hotel with plenty of time to shower and dress for the evening. As she left the hotel room at 6:30, she glanced in the mirror and then paused to look again. With the new clothes – a red dress and black boots that were tasteful and fashionable yet sexy – and makeup that was more subtle than she would normally wear on the job, she had a whole new look, and she liked it. 

Realizing it was still quite early for meeting Gold, Belle settled in at the hotel bar, making sure she had a view of the lobby. Ordering herself a Long Island iced tea, on Gold’s room tab, she reflected on the day and the world she had glimpsed thanks to Gold’s money. Maybe she wouldn’t go back to working street corners after this…maybe she’d leave New York all together and start over…

7:00 came and went and Gold didn’t show. It was closer to 7:30 by the time he appeared in the lobby, talking irritably to the man with him. As Belle walked over to them, Gold almost didn’t recognize her, and when he did his eyes widened in surprise at her new appearance. She smiled, enjoying his gaze.

“Miss French,” said Gold, “Good evening. You look quite lovely.” Although he kissed her hand, his tone was curt and his manner cold, any trace of the playfulness or uncertainty from before gone. Despite his changed manner, she noticed the rose was still in the buttonhole of his coat.

Turning to the other man, Gold introduced them. “Miss French, this is Gaston, my lawyer. Gaston, Miss Belle French.” 

Gaston was tall with brown hair and he looked like he spent a great deal of his free time in the gym. He could be called handsome, but there was something about him – maybe how his smile was more of a smirk, maybe the glint in his eye, maybe how his eyes lingered on her body as they shook hands – she didn’t like and instinctively didn’t trust. 

Gold offered her arm but returned to talking with Gaston as they left the hotel. 

“How the hell did Ivanov worm his way into the dinner? His presence won’t make Komarchenko any easier to deal with.”

“I’m sorry sir, but he found out and there was no dissuading him,” said Gaston, sounding genuinely apologetic, and Belle was surprised. Gaston didn’t seem like someone who called anyone “sir,” but she supposed it was a testament to Gold that he could command such respect. 

The two men continued to talk as they entered the car and headed to the restaurant, but not to Belle. She was tempted to say she could play her role better if she knew what the dinner was about, but she didn’t know if Gold had told Gaston about her or what the role he expected her to play even was. 

When they got to the restaurant the two men they were meeting were already there, and, as Gold had predicted, they didn’t seem to be on good terms. Gold made introductions and then they were shown to their table.

Igor Komarchenko was a big beefy man with a shaved head and stud earing. With his expensive fitted suit, he look liked he walked out of a gangster or Cold War movie, where he would have played the role of mob boss or James Bond’s nemesis. Dmitry Ivanov was smaller and younger, slighter, with thick black hair and glasses and his suit was probably the least expensive of the four men at the table.

Soon after they were seated – Belle was between Gold and Ivanov – they ordered, Gold ordering for her, and the men began to discuss business in earnest. Belle was annoyed at first that he had ordered for her without consulting her, but then realized it wasn’t her place to be annoyed, and so she sat and listened to the animated conversation.

From what Belle could gather, Ivanov and Komarchenko worked for different oil companies and were looking to Gold for an investment for natural gas exploration in the Arctic north of Russia. Komarchenko seemed confident that he would secure the investment, that the dinner was just a formality, and made it clear he thought little of Ivanov. Ivanov kept returning the fact that his country’s exploratory methods would use the most environmentally friendly methods possible, a point that seemed to increasingly annoy Komarchenko, and the latter increasingly stressed that his company could offer the maximum returns on the investment because (although he didn’t put it so bluntly) they didn’t care about the environmental nonsense. 

Over the soup (already the second course of the meal), Komarchenko finally snapped at Ivanov in Russian, and Ivanov shot a retort back. Gold smoothly cut in, also speaking Russian, and the three men continued to talk in increasingly angry Russian until the main course arrived, and with it a sort of reprieve, but the tension was palpable.

“So, Miss French,” asked Komarchenko, in a falsely bright tone as silence lingered over the table. “I believe you are off to the opera tomorrow to watch Eugene Onegin, an interpretation of the literary cornerstone of my homeland. Are you familiar with Pushkin’s most famous work?”

“Oh yes,” said Belle, cheerfully. She paused a second before continuing, before deciding to take a chance and attempt to change the subject and perhaps steer the dinner conversation onto a friendlier track. “I’ve read Eugene Onegin, unfortunately only in English, but it’s beautiful. Pushkin was incredible. His poetry is also wonderful, although I think, as far as Russian poetry goes, I like the Soviet poets, like Mayakovski and Akhmatova, a bit better.”

All four men stared at her. Clearly no one had expected her to be well read in Russian poetry, and she let a touch of smugness show. So there. She would show them she was more than just a pretty face.

Gold was the first to speak. “I’m inclined to agree with Miss French. I’m partial to the Soviet poets myself, but as far as literature goes, nothing yet has been written that rivals War and Peace.” 

A conversation and friendly debate about the best piece of Russian literature and Russian writers sprung up, and carried them through the rest of the meal – desert and the cheese course. The mood had lightened considerably, and it no longer seemed like a punch might be thrown. 

As they all stood up after the bill was paid, Komarchenko said arrogantly, “I look forward to our business. I think we can make a great deal of money together.”

Gold’s eyes narrowed and when he spoke his voice was steely. “Nothing is decided yet. I would not be so smug if I were you, Komarchenko.”

Komarchenko looked taken aback and his voice lost some of its self-assurance. “I’ll await the call from your office. Enjoy the opera.” And he left. 

Ivanov lingered and once they were all outside, he finally spoke, the words coming in a torrent, as if he was desperately trying to say his piece before he lost his nerve or got cut off.

“Gold, you can’t do business with Komarchenko! He’s an unreliable gangster, and his company does all it can to skirt environmental regulations! The potential exploration site is pristine wilderness, and my company would be so careful. We recognize we have a responsibility, for the Arctic and for the future! As the financier, you have the ability to make sure this exploration is done responsibly. You owe it to-"

“Enough! I do not owe anyone anything!” If Gold had been irritated by Komarchenko, he was angry now. “Do not talk to me of obligations.”

But Ivanov pressed on. “Investing with Komarchenko is not the right thing to do! It might yield larger returns, but surely there is something larger at stake here! Surely doing what is right comes into play, working toward the greater good! My father always considered you-“

“That’s quite enough out of you,” Gold hissed, a dangerous look in his eye now. “How dare you presume to lecture me on doing what is right or the greater good. It is only because of your father that you are still being considered for the investment at all. If anyone else acted as you did tonight or spoke to me like you did…”

Ivanov looked thoroughly chastened, and said quietly, “My apologies if I overstepped. It is only that I believe strongly in what I am doing, and hoped to convey that passion. I wish you a good evening, and will await hearing from you.” 

Gold watched Ivanov walk away. There was anger, but also something else in his gaze and the other man’s words had clearly gotten to him. Belle moved to his side and linked her arm with his to try to offer some comfort.

Gaston, who was checking his phone and apparently not noticing Gold’s reaction, said derisively, “Insolent fool. He still thinks we would choose him? His proposal can hardly hold its own against Komarchenko.”

“Enough,” Gold snarled at his lawyer. “The decision is not yet made, and I abhor people who make presumptions or think they can predict my actions. Nothing is decided yet.”

Their car arrived then, and Belle and Gold got in but Gaston did not. Gold was silent on the ride back to the hotel, and didn’t say anything as they arrived or got into the elevator.

Once they arrived, Gold took off his overcoat, but then went straight out to the balcony, and stood looking out over the city. After a moment, Belle followed him. He seemed quite upset, and she genuinely wanted to comfort him. She stood slightly behind him, putting one hand on his arm and gently tracing circles on his back with the other. It was a cold, clear night, and stars were visible despite the city lights. Belle could see why Gold preferred the penthouse.

At first he didn’t seem to notice her presence. He stood stiffly, hands gripping the railing tightly, jaw clenched, and though the balcony afforded an excellent view, his eyes were hard and unseeing, focused inward rather than out. He seemed to be wrestling with internal demons, perhaps those of his past. 

As the minutes stretched on, Belle thought that maybe he didn’t want her there, and was about to return inside when he, as if he had read her mind, put his hand on top of hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Last Toast, by Anna Akhmatova (1934)
> 
> Here’s to our family, now in shatters,  
> And here’s to all my cruel days,  
> The loneliness of two in tatters  
> And cheers to you and all your ways.
> 
> Here’s to the lips that finally cheated,  
> To cold dead eyes that cannot see  
> A world where justice is not meted  
> And cheers to the God that let this be.


	4. Comfort

Gold’s hand was warm and calloused and he gently rubbed his fingers across her knuckles.

“His words brought back memories from a time… from a long time ago. A painful time. A time I have tried to block out and move past.” The anger had left him and his voice soft and sad. 

“I think there are some things we can never truly leave behind. They’ll always be part of us, and all we can do is to try to live with them and keep going,” Belle said quietly. 

Gold nodded and sighed softly. “Aye.”

They stood in silence, looking out over the city. It started to snow and he shivered. 

Belle took his hands and led him back inside. She held onto his hands and he made not motion to pull away. Their eyes met for a long moment, and there was sadness and pain in his eyes, and longing as well, although for what or whom she was not sure. She leaned forward to whisper in his ear, “Let me help you forget, if only for tonight.”

He inhaled sharply and his eyes darkened. “Are you sure?” he murmured, his eyes searching her face. 

“Yes,” she said softly, reaching out to run her thumb along his cheek and push back his hair. And she was sure. There was something about Gold, something different. “You have the most wonderful eyes, you know. Like a dragon.”

He blinked, surprised, but smiled. “And you have the most brilliant blue eyes.”

Belle shrugged off her coat and boots (he kicked off his shoes) and then, interlacing her fingers with his, backed into the bedroom, bringing him with her. He paused only to turn off the lights and lean his cane agains the wall.

They stood in the center of the bedroom and were still for a moment. Enough light from the city came in to illuminate his face, but the shadows softened the harsh lines. Belle moved close to him, to kiss lightly along his neck and slowly undo his tie. His breath caught as she reached the sensitive place behind his ear.

He shrugged off his jacket and his hands came to rest on her waist. As she began to work on his shirt buttons, he ghosted his fingers up her sides – she shivered at his touch – and slowly unzipped her dress, sliding it off. Bringing his hands back up, he cupped her breasts, gently rolling her nipples between slightly calloused fingers. She gasped at the feel of his mouth on her skin as he lowered his head to kiss a line down her neck and she felt him smile. 

Belle felt off-balance – this wasn’t how things usually progressed – and so she grabbed his shirt and pulled him over to the bed. He was caught off balance and fell on top of her with a rather undignified “oof.” She smirked and tried to push him over so she could be on top, but he grabbed her hands and gently pinned them above her head.

“Hey,” she murmured breathlessly, playfully, and tried not very hard to pull her hands free and although he smiled at her efforts, her breath caught at the desire and intensity in his eyes.

“Oh Belle,” he said softly, almost reverently. “You’re so beautiful.”

She tried to fight back a thrill of excitement at his words – his voice was low and sexy and it had been a long time since anyone had looked at her like that. Men would say anything in bed. It didn’t mean something. It didn’t mean she was special.

Their eyes met, and then he made a small motion as if to kiss her and she turned her face away.

He kissed her neck instead and continued to kiss his way down. He took a nipple in his mouth, licking and sucking at her breasts until she was squirming underneath him, tightening her thighs around him. 

Gold took his time and she wondered at him. It had never been like this before. He was treating her like she actually mattered, like he actually cared if she was enjoying it. 

But then he was sliding his hand lower and rational thought became harder. His fingers slipped under her underwear to stroke and tease before pushing off the panties entirely. His skillful fingers seemed to know just how to touch her and a hot, almost painful need started to fill her belly. 

It felt so wonderful she almost forgot he was still half dressed, and she finally pulled her hands free and pushed off his pants. He paused for a second and there was a brief pressure against her and then he was inside her, rocking slowly, and she whimpered as the need eased a little. She was already so close and it wasn’t long before, with a cry, she came, shuddering against him. Gold rocked against her a few more times and then he closed his eyes and moaned and she felt another wave of pleasure as he came inside her. 

He slowly pulled out and rolled over to lie next to her. She scooted closer to press against him, burying her face in his chest, and was relieved when he put his arms around her. Without his weight on top of her, she felt an odd sense of loss. He held her close and kissed her forehead and she had to remind herself that it was just sex, no matter that it felt like it could be something more.


	5. Something There That Wasn't There Before

Belle woke up the next morning alone. Gold must have gone to work. 

She lay in bed for a long while, thinking about the night before. She thought about how his hands felt on her body, how his lips felt, how she had wanted to press her mouth against his. Her mind wandered… he really was quite dashing…he had a sort of old world charm…he was so skillful and attentive in bed… what would it be like to be with him as a lover, instead of as a business arrangement? 

She sat up abruptly and went to take a shower and start her day. No. No no no. That type of thinking wouldn’t do at all. She couldn’t let herself think like that. She couldn’t let herself think about him in any way other than a client – he certainly would never see her any other way. 

Anyway, happy endings only happened in stories, in the books she loved. Especially with her past, she should know better than to believe they could happen in real life.

What happened between them was just sex. Nothing more. Just…really good sex.

***

Gold stood in his office (he had offices in London and New York) and watched a pair of birds flit across the overcast winter sky, watching them until they vanished from sight. He had always been envious of birds, how they could fly away. 

He was finding it hard to concentrate, as his mind kept going back to Belle…Belle smiling at him, Belle in his arms, Belle beneath him… If he wasn’t careful he would develop feelings for her, he thought, ignoring the small voice that said maybe he already had. 

It was because of her Ivanov’s words had affected him so much the other day, because he had already been thinking of Milah. He had already been vulnerable. He would have to pull himself together. Thinking about Milah would only take him down a path he had tried to block off by all those years ago by throwing himself into work. After what had happened he had tried to build walls against the memories and guilt, but sometimes words could cut through and remind him how raw those feelings still were. He had tried not to let emotion in, because emotion meant the possibility of getting hurt. 

Belle reminded him of Milah – they were both intelligent, beautiful, strong women. But he had lost Milah and it wasn’t as if Belle would ever be his to lose. It wasn’t as if she would ever feel anything for him – she was a prostitute – this whole thing was a business transaction – she was probably very good at acting like she cared, because that’s what she had to do. 

Gold shook his head. This whole line of thought was crazy. He couldn’t let himself forget what she did to earn a living. And anyway, the universe didn’t offer second chances for happiness, not for people like him. 

Gold sat down at his desk and pulled a sheaf of papers towards him. Time to get back to business, to lose himself in work, because that was what he did best.

***

After her shower Belle noticed a note on the table from Gold. The opera was at 8 and they would meet at the hotel to go to dinner at 6.

Over a fancy lunch she mulled over her situation and decided that at the end of the week, with the money from Gold, she would leave New York, maybe even leave the U.S. Maybe she’d go back to Australia, go back to university, start over. 

As she scooped the last of the tiramisu out of the bowl, her mind was made up. She would never be able to erase her past, or even forget it, but she could change her future, and she could reclaim her dignity. The new clothes from Gold could help remind her of the person she’d like to become. 

That afternoon Belle went back to her apartment, careful to avoid her landlord, to gather up her things, planning on not returning at the end of the week. As she stood in the middle of the tiny apartment, she realized there wasn’t much worth taking. Pulling out a duffle bag from the closet, she stuffed in some jeans and favorite t-shirts, and then paused when she came across a Columbia University hoodie at the back of a drawer.

She took it out and looked at it, absent-mindedly tracing a finger over the raised white lettering. It was like seeing a ghost from her past, and stirred up memories she didn’t want to think about. She shoved the sweatshirt back in the drawer. It could stay behind.

She filled the duffel with some more clothes and books, and then put her laptop and some photos and other mementos in her backpack. Surveying the apartment, she wasn’t sure how she felt that her whole life could fit in two bags. At least it made it easy to move. 

Back at the hotel Belle stowed her bags in the smaller bedroom and set about getting ready for evening. She had a beautiful purple evening gown, and her eye shadow would subtly match it. 

Gold returned as she was starting to do her makeup and she poked her head out of the bathroom to say hello. 

“Hello Miss French,” he said hesitantly, softly, his eyes widening as he looked at her. “You look lovely. What a beautiful dress.”

“Thank you,” she said, hoping she wasn’t blushing. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” he said shortly, looking away from her, some of the hardness reentering his face and voice. It was as if the hardness and coldness were a mask, a persona, he pulled on to face the world and only rarely let down. “I have to change.” And he disappeared into the bedroom.

As she was finishing her makeup, Gold came back into the bathroom. It had two sinks and was large enough for them to stand side-by-side. He attempted several times to tie his tuxedo bowtie, but could never quite get it and ended up scowling at his reflection in the mirror.

Belle grinned at his annoyance. 

“Here,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Let me.”

He flinched at her touch and looked as if he wanted to say no, but he turned so that they were facing each other. She tied it and let her hands linger on his chest, wanting to ask him what was wrong, why he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“There,” she said with a smile. “You look quite handsome.” And she meant it. 

But Gold pulled back with a snort. “No need to humor me, dearie,” he said derisively. 

“I wasn’t,” she said quietly as he left the bathroom, and he turned back to look at her, a flash of something in his eyes, but then he continued out.

When she came out of the bathroom, Gold was already in his coat, standing by the window looking out. See she was ready, he nodded cordially and offered her his arm and they headed out. He remained quiet as they got into the car and headed to the restaurant. He seemed lost in thought. They passed the beautiful building of the Metropolitan Opera and stopped at a few blocks away. 

“I hope you don’t mind Italian,” said Gold, breaking the silence for the first time and gesturing at a small Italian restaurant. “This one is a favorite of mine, and so close to the opera house, so it’s good for catching a bite before shows.”

“That sounds wonderful,” said Belle as they entered the restaurant.

The host greeted Gold warmly in Italian and ushered them to a table.

“If it is alright with you, the chef is a friend of mine, and so when I come here he surprises me with something special that’s not on the menu,” he said, seeming to relax a bit in the familiar atmosphere.

“Of course! How could I say no to that?” said Belle smiling at him across the table. And then, hoping to start a conversation, she said, “So, Italian and Russian? I’m impressed.”

He smiled back at her, a very small smile, but still. “Aye, well, I have an ear for languages as well. My Italian is nothing to boast of and mostly limited to the culinary realm. Russian, well, Russian has always been a sort of pet project. It came in handy in the army, and being able to read the literature in its original language is an added bonus. And my wife was Russian.”

Belle could tell immediately that he hadn’t meant to say the last sentence, and for a moment he tensed and the hardness reentered his face and she thought he was going to close himself off from her. 

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, putting her hand on top of his.

He shook his head slightly, as if trying to rid himself of the memories, but he put his hand on top of hers.

“It was a long time ago,” he said in an attempt at nonchalance, and then quickly moved onto a different subject. “Anyway, perhaps what is more impressive than my questionable language skills is your knowledge of Russian literature and poetry. I’m pleased that you’re familiar with Eugene Onegin. The tickets are from Komarchenko, in an attempt to sway me to his favor. He’s done this before, and always gives me two tickets, the ass. I’m glad this time the second one will get used.”

The subject of Russian and Soviet literature and poetry carried them through dinner. The food and wine was fantastic, and although, upon reflection, the second bottle probably hadn’t been strictly necessary, Belle was pleased Gold had ordered it. By the end of dinner she was happier than she remembered being in a long time, although whether that was due to the wine or Gold she wasn’t sure. Gold was such a pleasure to talk to – he listened to her opinions, offered intelligent thoughts of his own, genuinely seemed interested in what she thought, and was so smart. 

By the time they got up to leave, Belle was a little bit tipsy from the wine, and everything seemed to take a happy, warm glow. She leaned on Gold a bit more than perhaps she should have as they walked the few blocks to the opera house, but he was warm and solid and wasn’t complaining. 

They had box seats quite close to the stage and as they settled in the lights dimmed and the performance began. Belle leaned forward eagerly – she didn’t want to miss a second – and she wasn’t disappointed. The costumes were beautiful, as was the music. The lyrics were shown in English too so that non-Russian speakers could understand the story. As the lights came back on during the intermission, Belle turned to Gold and saw that his eyes were closed.

“Hey,” she said, gently nudging his arm. “You weren’t sleeping, were you?”

He opened his eyes and smiled. “No, of course not. Sometimes I just prefer to close my eyes to listen.”

The intermission passed quickly as they discussed the differences between the opera and the novel, and soon the lights were dimming again. Belle tentatively put her head on his shoulder. For a second she was worried when he didn’t react, but then he put an arm around her. As they settled in to watch the second act, Belle had to remind herself to focus on enjoying the opera, and not on wishing there was something real between her and Gold.

All too soon the opera was over, and they headed back outside. Fresh snow had fallen during the performance, giving the city an almost magical atmosphere. 

As they stood waiting for Gold’s driver, Belle said impulsively, “What if we were to walk back to the hotel? It’s not far and it’s a beautiful night.”

Gold raised an eyebrow, but then shrugged. “Very well. If you would like.”

They made their way slowly back toward the hotel.

“So, I was trying to think of nicknames for Bertrum, but it doesn't really lend itself well to any,” said Belle, glancing at Gold and grinning as he wrinkled his nose at the mention of his name. “There aren't many options... Rum, Rumple...”

Gold snorted. "Are you sure Rumple would not be short for Rumplestiltskin, the fairytale creature who could spin straw into gold and terrorized towns? I may have a penchant for making deals, but I can assure you, I’ve never stolen any babies,” he said very dryly, only the twinkle in his eye giving away that he was teasing her.

She burst out laughing. “I’ll have to take your word for it. But you’re no monster.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, dearie,” he said, still dryly. He stopped suddenly and, because she was looking around at the snow-covered city, it was a few steps before Belle noticed he wasn’t by her side. She turned around to see him straightening up, a snowball in his hand and a mischievous glint in his eye. 

“You wouldn’t-“ she began, but then he threw it at her and it hit her shoulder, showering her with snow. 

“Oh, I would,” he said, smirking. “I am every bit a monster.” 

“How dare you! Well then, Rumple it will be, short for Rumplestiltskin!” said Belle in mock outrage, grinning and scooping up a snowball of her own. 

Their snowball fight lasted all the way back to the hotel. Gold had accuracy on his side, but Belle had speed, and she would run up ahead and duck behind cars. By the time they reached the hotel, both were out of breath from laughter and covered in snow.

He offered her his arm as they entered the hotel, and they went up to the penthouse in companionable silence. As he unlocked the door, she asked, “Do you play chess? I saw a chess set on one of the side tables.”

“I’ll have to take a rain check on the chess match. Unfortunately I have to wake up quite early tomorrow. Goodnight, Miss French.” He quickly kissed her on the forehead and went into the master bedroom. 

Belle watched his back, her heart beating too quickly, as he shut the door but not entirely, and tried to guess what he wanted. It seemed he would never ask her to do those types of things, but whether or not he would like for her to follow him was another question. She knew what she wanted. That evening…it had seemed as if there was something more between them, the way he would smile at her, his playfulness, the softness in his face over dinner… but it was probably just wistful thinking on her part.

After a bit of contemplation, she went into the smaller bedroom and changed into her nightgown. Deciding she didn’t care if the smarter thing was to stay there and sleep alone, she ventured back into the hallway. He had turned off the light in his room. She gently pushed open the door and could barely make out his form in the bed. He didn’t move or say anything as she walked quietly over to the bed and slid in next to him. His back was to her and she pressed up against him.

Gold rolled over and sleepily put an arm around her. Pushing away the voice that said she was only setting herself up to get hurt later, Belle nestled into him, taking comfort from his closeness and warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A captive, alone in a dungeon I dwell  
> Entombed in the stillness and murk of a cell  
> Outside, in the courtyard, in wild frenzied play,  
> My comrade, an eagle, has pounced on his prey  
> Then leaving it, he looks as if to say  
> In thought and in purpose at one were with me  
> He looks at me so, and utters a cry  
> “Tis time,” he is saying, “from here let us fly!”  
> “We’re both wed to freedom, so let us away  
> To where lonely storm clouds courageously stray  
> Where turbulent seas rush to merge with the sky,  
> Where only the winds dare venture…and I!
> 
> -The Captive by Alexandr Pushkin (1822)


	6. Nine Out Of Ten Lifetimes

Belle woke up alone again the next morning. She sighed and rolled over, looking at the empty space next to her. How nice it would be to wake up next to him… But that would never happen. Because that type of relationship could never develop between them. 

Belle found a note from him on the table, saying that they were going to a hockey game that afternoon. She raised an eyebrow at that, not having figured him for following sports, but she supposed that perhaps it was a business function. 

She spent a leisurely day in the suite, reading one of the books she had brought back from her apartment and venturing out only for lunch. As the afternoon progressed, she found herself worrying about what to wear. What did one wear to a hockey game? In the end she settled on a skirt and a blouse, to try to look the part of someone Gold might actually date. 

Gold returned as she was settling back down with her book.

“Good afternoon, Belle,” he said as he put his briefcase on the table. He seemed happy, as if, if she dared to hope, the good mood from the night before had carried over. “Ready to head out?”

“Hey,” she said, getting up to stand near him. “Yup, I’m ready. I was surprised though, I wouldn’t have thought you to be a hockey fan.”

He made a face at that, and as they left the room, he said, “I’m not, but Ivanov is friends with the owner of the Rangers, New York’s team, and so he has a box for tonight’s game, and offered tickets. Komarchenko seems to think the deal is set, but I don’t like anyone who’s too certain, and so going to the game has several benefits. One, because I actually don’t mind Ivanov, and two, to take Komarchenko down a peg. He won’t be there tonight, but he’ll definitely know I’m there and the message will get back to him that I'm still considering all options.” 

The car ride to the arena was passed in pleasant conversation. Gold inquired about her day and she told him about the book she was reading. As they arrived, Belle realized that while they could get lost in discussing literature and art and probably talk for hours, it was also a way to avoid talking about personal matters. But that was ok, as Gold seemed like a very private person who wouldn’t take well to inquiries about his life and Belle definitely didn’t want to talk her past. If he wanted to talk, she would be there to listen, but she wasn’t going to pry. 

They were greeted at the box by Ivanov, and he ushered them inside. 

“Gold! Miss French! I’m so glad you could make it. Do come in! There is food and drink along the wall, please help yourselves!” said Ivanov warmly. 

“Do get some food, dearie,” Gold said to her quietly. “Ivanov always make sure to have excellent food at his events. I’m afraid I have might be stuck in some business discussions.”

Belle saw that they were not alone in the box – Gaston was there too, and some other businessmen in fancy suits. 

“Don’t worry about me,” said Belle, smiling at him (and was too pleased when he smiled back). “I’ll try to learn something about hockey.”

She got a small plate of food and headed to the front of the box, which had an excellent view of the rink. 

“Hello Belle,” said Ivanov, coming up to stand beside her. “Are you a hockey fan?”

Belle admitted that she wasn’t, and found herself on the receiving end of a thorough lesson on the ins and outs of hockey, as well as some history. But it was quite pleasant, as Ivanov was so passionate about the sport, the passion was contagious, and he was able to explain things in a way that was enjoyable even to someone who wasn’t a sports fan. Russia also came up, as Ivanov mentioned how many of the best players on the American teams were from the former Soviet Union, and how during the Cold War the US-Soviet rivalry had been felt everywhere, even on the hockey rink.

“Have you watched the movie Miracle?” asked Ivanov. “You must! It’s about how the U.S. hockey team beat the Soviet team in 1980 Winter Olympics. Simply suburb.”

Belle smiled at his enthusiasm. “Isn’t it a bit disloyal of you to be such a fan of a story where the Russians lose?”

“Nah,” said Ivanov, laughing. “I’m as much British as I am Russian, and I have no love for the Soviet Union. And I love a good underdog story. The Soviets come into the games as the heavy favorite, as they’ve won the past four gold medals, but the Americans pull off a victory! The best bit is the speech the coach gives the American team, where he says if they play the Soviets ten games the Soviets might win nine of them. But it’s that one game, the tenth game, that matters. That’s the game they have to win. The whole thing is just a great story!”

Belle promised she would watch the movie, and Ivanov reluctantly excused himself to go talk to his other guests. “I suppose I should actually discuss some business,” he said apologetically. “Although I’d rather discuss hockey than work any day.” And he headed over to talk to some of the other businessmen. 

***

Gold watched Belle and Ivanov talk, watched how they stood close together and laughed and smiled at each-other, and felt an irrational flood of jealously. Ivanov was young and handsome and charming and the type of man Belle would probably chose to be with. 

He recognized that they were just talking and he should be glad she was enjoying the game, but seeming them together reminded him that he and Belle weren’t even “together” by choice, but only by a business arrangement. The idea of them together was probably laughable to her. The irrationality of the jealous feelings only irritated him even more.

Gold’s temper was already fraying when Gaston sauntered over to him and inquired about Belle.

“So, Gold, wherever did you find someone like Miss French?” drawled Gaston. 

Gold didn’t like how the other man was looking at Belle, but he was annoyed at the world by that point, and so he simply snapped, “We met at a member’s only event at the Met. We have a good deal of common interests, and as you have seen, she is quite charming.”

Gaston “hmphed” at that, as if he doubted “common interests” were enough to keep anyone together, but he had enough sense not to push Gold further, and so he slunk off to get another drink. 

Ivanov approached Gold at that moment and they began to talk. Gold’s back was to the hockey rink, and so he didn’t see Gaston approach Belle. 

***

After Ivanov left, Belle watched the game with a greater appreciation than before. She heard someone approach her, and she was disappointed when it was Gaston, as she had hoped to show off some of her new hockey knowledge to Gold.

“So, what’s a beautiful woman like yourself doing with Gold?” Gaston asked, coming to stand very close to her and looking her over with a look that made her want to cross her arms over her chest. 

She took a small step back, looking up at him and not sure how to respond. Did he know? “We actually do have a lot in common.”

“That’s what he said,” said Gaston dismissively. “But really, a lovely young women like yourself and him? Do you have some sort of agreement?” He raised an eyebrow and smirked.

Belle felt herself starting to get angry. It sounded like Gold had told him. Was this Gaston’s way of propositioning her? She hadn’t thought Gold would do that…somehow she thought he was different. 

“I don’t know what you’re getting at,” she said frostily.

“I guess he has a lot of money… but he’s not the only one,” Gaston continued as if her tone hadn’t been hostile. “And surely someone such as yourself” – he looked her up and down and she instinctively took another step back – “values other things in a man than money.” And he raised his eyebrows at her in such a way that she knew exactly “what other things” she was supposed to value in a man. 

“I can assure you Mr. Gold and I are quite happy,” Belle said, flushing. This conversation was not an acceptable one to be having, not here, not now. Gaston was slowly backing her into the corner, taking a step forward every time she stepped back. Where was Gold? Why wasn’t he coming to her rescue? Unless he had sanctioned Gaston’s crude attempts at coming on to her… 

“You say that now, love. But whatever lifestyle he’s promised you I can match. Plus I’m sure that while the old man might be skilled in the boardroom, the bedroom is my domain, and I can make you very happy.”

Belle was sorely tempted to snap, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that” in response to his remarks about his bedroom prowess, but instead she said coldly, “I hardly think this is an appropriate discussion to be having here.” She was furious – furious at Gaston’s remarks about Gold, but also furious with Gold for telling Gaston and seemingly giving him free reign to solicit her – and hurt. 

At that moment the game ended and someone called him over to the other side of the box. 

“I’ll be in contact with you, sweetheart,” he said, smiling a crocodile smile that gave her shivers and walking away.

Belle was left almost in the corner, almost trembling with anger. She had thought, especially after the previous night, that maybe Gold saw her as something more than just a prostitute, but apparently she had been mistaken.

***

Gold glared irritably out the window on the ride back to the hotel. Because he was angry himself, he didn’t notice that Belle seemed equally angry.

When they got back to the room, Belle turned on him, eyes flashing. 

“I thought that, just maybe, you were different,” she said.

“I beg your pardon?” he answered coldly, feeling his temper start to rise at her tone. No one spoke to him like that.

“This – our – arrangement. Is it something you laugh about with your wealthy friends?” Her tone was angry, hurt. 

“I do not know what you’re getting at, Miss French,” he said, using harshness to mask his confusion. 

Belle snorted. “Oh, come off it. You told your people, at least Gaston, about me, and probably gave him your blessing to contact me after you leave the city.” She felt close to tears and hoped she could keep them in. That would just be perfect, as if she wasn’t humiliated enough. She shouldn’t have allowed herself to think of Gold as anything other than a client. She also shouldn’t have yelled at him, she put the five grand in jeopardy, but now that she had started it, she wasn’t one to back down. Every man in her life had let her down, and she should have known Gold wouldn’t be an exception.

“I did no such thing. And I don’t appreciate your tone, Miss French.” Gold’s voice was soft and deadly, and his eyes angry. She could see how he was someone who could accomplish a great deal without raising his voice. 

“Oh really? Well I don’t appreciate being backed into a corner and propositioned by your fancy lawyer friends,” she shot back. 

“What are you talking about?” Gold was angry, but it sounded as if he actually didn’t know.

“You don’t have to lie about it! If you didn’t say anything, what about Gaston’s insinuations that there was some sort of financial arrangement between us and him saying he would be contacting me?” 

Gold’s jaw tightened. He was angry again, but she could tell it wasn’t aimed at her. “If he said those things, he was out of line. I apologize on his behalf,” he said tightly. “I will speak with him. That is unacceptable. He should be more respectful.”

“So no one knows?” asked Belle.

“No,” said Gold, watching her. 

When he didn’t say anything more, perhaps because she wanted a fight or because she wanted to provoke a reaction or because she was still quite upset, she snapped, “Why not? Because you’re embarrassed?”

Gold felt the anger leave him, and he just felt tired. When he had left the office that afternoon he hadn’t wanted a fight, he had hoped for a pleasant evening. And Gaston had to ruin that. The ass. He would pay for this.

“No, I am not embarrassed by you,” he said quietly, not meeting her eyes. “I didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t want you to be prejudged. I wanted them to see you as I see you, as charming and brilliant and beautiful.”

Then Belle was in his arms, kissing him, and for a moment he was lost in the taste of her mouth. He had wanted to kiss her for the past several days, but not like this, not when she was so upset. With a great effort he pulled back.

Gold saw pain in her eyes, and vulnerability too, and he felt his heart contract painfully. He wanted to comfort her, he wanted to tell her he was there for her. 

“Belle…” he said hoarsely. “I thought…”

But she laid a finger against his lips – he shivered at her touch - and murmured, “Shhhh…” And then she was kissing him again and he kissed her back. He held her tightly and wished that he could stay there forever. He wanted to tell her that he never wanted to let her go, but that wouldn’t do. The kisses grew more passionate, and Gold told himself he wouldn’t let it go any further than kissing, not while she was still so upset. 

But then Belle broke the kiss and buried her head in his chest. He realized with something close to horror – he didn’t know much about comforting others – that she was crying. Not sure what else to do, he kept his arms around her and rubbed her back and murmured, “There, there. It’s ok, it’s ok…”

Even after her last sob, she stayed pressed against him, and he kept his arms around her, with his cheek against the top of her head. She eventually pulled back slightly, but he kept his arms loosely around her. 

“Oh Rumple, I’m sorry, I… your shirt is all wet. I’m sorry for making a scene.” She looked genuinely afraid that he would be angry with her for crying.

“Belle, dear, you have nothing to apologize for. Are you all right?” He wiped a tear off her cheek with his thumb.

“I… I am now. It’s just… what you said was very nice, and with everything else...” She avoided his eyes, and he sensed that she hadn’t been told that she was smart or pretty all that often, and felt a spark of anger. She was so wonderful… he wanted to hurt those who had been unkind to her. 

“How about this,” he ventured, intuiting that she felt awkward and didn’t want to talk about what had happened. “I’ll change my shirt and you can wash your face and we’ll go get a bite to eat. I know an excellent place around the corner that serves wonderful burgers.”

Belle smiled tentatively at that. “That sounds lovely, although I wouldn’t have pegged you for a burger man.”

“I might not be American, but I can still have an appreciation for good burgers. ” he smiled at her, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Well, I’m just glad you didn’t suggest haggis,” Belle said, grinning. “I don’t know how I would feel about that.”

“That’s for later, dearie,” he said. “Properly made, haggis can be delicious.”

“If you say so…bleh!” And, after making a face at him, she headed into the bathroom. 

Gold went into the bedroom to change his shirt, and after a moment of hesitation, decided not to put his tie back on.

At the restaurant they were guided to a booth, and Gold was inordinately happy when Belle slid in next to him, as opposed to sitting opposite him. Their thighs touched, and Gold thought that he would like to imagine that Belle took comfort from their touch, as he did. 

“I like you without a tie,” she said quietly, studying him. “You look quite dashing in your suits, but it is nice to see you a touch less formal.”

“I figured if I was going to be eating a hamburger, I could forgo the tie,” he said with a smile, secretly pleased that she thought so. “I figured I could stand to be a bit less European for the evening.”

Their conversation was light and playful, nothing too serious, but each was ok with that. Belle convinced Gold to order a Long Island Iced Tea, and laughed at his face when he tried it. Gold convinced Belle to add an egg to her burger, and gave her a hard time when she admitted it was an excellent addition. 

They slowly, and somewhat tipsily – the Long Island Iced Teas had been quite strong – made their way, arm in arm, back to the hotel afterwards. 

“Do you have another busy day tomorrow?” Belle asked him as the hotel came into view.

“Unfortunately I do,” he answered sadly, seeming genuinely sad about it. 

“What if… what if you were to take the day off?” she asked, not sure where the question came from, but hoping as soon as she had asked that he would do so.

“A day off…” Gold mused, seeming to actually consider it. “A day off, to wander around New York with a lovely lady? I think I just might be able to manage that. Ha, I haven’t taken a day off in… well, in a very long time.” And he smiled at her, a smile that set her heart beating faster. 

They sort of fell into bed together that night, Belle sprawled partly on top of Gold. Both were content with just kissing, and it felt so right that neither wanted to break the spell by doing anything more. Eventually they just lay together, Belle’s head on his chest and his arms around her. She heard his breathing deepen and his arms loosened around her as he drifted off to sleep. 

Belle propped herself up and looked at his face. Some light came through the window, not much, but enough that she could see him. She reached out to brush some hair off his forehead and sighed softly.

She thought back to the speech in the movie Ivanov had mentioned. “The best bit is the speech the coach gives the American team, where he says if they play the Soviets ten games the Soviets might win nine of them. But it’s that one game, the tenth game, that matters. That’s the game they have to win.” 

Nine out of ten. Nine out of ten lifetimes whatever was between her and Gold wouldn’t work out. That type of thing didn’t work out in real life. But it was that tenth time that counted. Dare she to hope that this might be it? The universe in which there might be a chance? 

No. She didn’t dare to hope. Hope hadn’t been kind. She would enjoy the time they had together, but for it to develop into something more…that wasn’t for her to hope. 

She shook her head – it was too late for such philosophizing and she wasn’t really making sense. Putting her head back on his chest, she fell asleep to the comforting sound of his heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Great moments... are born from great opportunity. And that's what you have here, tonight, boys. That's what you've earned here tonight. One game. If we played 'em ten times, they might win nine. But not this game. Not tonight. Tonight, we skate with them. Tonight, we stay with them. And we shut them down because we can! Tonight, WE are the greatest hockey team in the world. You were born to be hockey players. Every one of you. And you were meant to be here tonight. This is your time. Their time is done. It's over. I'm sick and tired of hearing about what a great hockey team the Soviets have. Screw 'em. This is your time. Now go out there and take it.” – the speech from Miracle


	7. Written in the Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Never wonder what I'll feel as living shuffles by  
> You don't have to ask me and I need not reply  
> Every moment of my life from now until I die  
> I will think or dream of you and fail to understand  
> How a perfect love can be confounded out of hand
> 
> Is it written in the stars  
> Are we paying for some crime  
> Is that all that we are good for  
> Just a stretch of mortal time
> 
> Or some god's experiment  
> In which we have no say  
> In which we're given paradise  
> But only for a day..."
> 
> \- Written in the Stars, from Aida

The next morning Gold was still next to her when she woke up. He was pressed against her back, an arm draped over her side, hand warm on her stomach. Belle lay still for a moment, savoring his closeness. Almost absent-mindedly she ran her fingers over his arm and placed her hand over his. He shifted behind her and murmured “Good morning, dear.”

She rolled over so that she was facing him, their foreheads almost touching and her hands on his chest. 

“Good morning, Rumple.”

He smiled at her.

“I was wondering how you might feel about going to the Met today. I always love walking around that museum, and I know an excellent breakfast place nearby.” 

“Hmm,” she murmured. “Going to the Met sounds lovely. But… But what if we were to do bunch instead?” She raised an eyebrow at him suggestively.

“Oh?” he drawled, in such a way that she knew he knew exactly what she meant and smiling at her in such a way that she felt her heart rate increase. “I suppose we could be flexible.” His eyes had darkened and the roughened edge in his voice sent delicious shivers down her spine.

Gold kissed her and made to move on top, but she pushed him onto his back and straddled him.

“My turn,” she whispered, nipping at his neck and grinding her hips into him, causing him to groan underneath her. His hands came to tangle in her hair to pull her in for a deep kiss. 

***

Noon found Gold and Belle arriving at the Met. They strolled around the museum, arm in arm, deep in conversation, each impressing the other with their knowledge of the art and history.

As they entered one of the European galleries, Gold pulled Belle over to one of the display cases.

“You must see these! A collection of Faberge works is on long-term loan to the Met from an heiress, ” he said.

“Oh! Faberge? Do they have Faberge eggs?” Belle asked.

“Yes! They have a whole collection of Faberge art commissioned by the Romanovs, including three eggs,” answered Gold. “It’s really quite incredible. Here we are.” 

“Wow,” Belle breathed as they stood in front of the case with the eggs. “What exquisite craftsmanship. And look, that one was made in 1912, just five years before the revolution. They’re so beautiful, but there’s something almost sad about them too…”

“Because one knows how history progressed, and one knows that only five years after that egg was presented to Nicholas II, the Russian Empire came toppling down. And yet when the tsar received the egg, he had no idea how little time he had left,” said Gold, nodding. 

“Exactly. They’re incredible pieces of art, and yet when one thinks about the fate of the people for whom they were made…” Belle mused. 

“Maybe it makes them even more beautiful,” said Gold quietly.

“I like that idea,” said Belle, resting her head on his shoulder, and they stood quietly for a moment. 

The fact that the eggs stirred the same feelings in Gold, that they had pretty much completed the other’s sentences, sparked something in Belle, but she pushed that feeling down. It wouldn’t do to think like that. Better to focus on enjoying the day, without thinking too much about what the next one would bring. Better not to dwell on the fact that it was already Thursday, and they would be parting ways on Saturday. 

***

After lingering by the Faberge exhibition, they slowly moved on and wandered to the period rooms, rooms that offered examples of interior decorating from throughout the ages. 

“Ooh, these are wonderful!” Belle exclaimed as they stood outside a room designed to be like the parlor of a 19th century French nobleman. “This room might be my favorite, with the books and the maps on the walls and globe. That chair looks like it would be perfect for curling up in with a good book in front of the fire on a rainy day.”

Gold smiled at her enthusiasm and the picture she painted. He was about to say that if she liked these rooms and all the books, she should see his house in London, which would not have been out of place in Victorian England, but he bit his tongue. It wouldn’t do to say such things. Better not to bring up the fact that in two days she would be gone and he would return alone to that house.

They moved onto a bedroom recreation, and Gold caught sight of the two of them in a mirror. Their reflection – arm-in-arm, smiling, a matching sense of style – looked like a real couple, and Gold felt a pain in his chest at the knowledge that it would never be so. This type of thing didn’t work out in real life. Even if he were to ask, which he wouldn’t because he had never been good at being brave when it counted, there was no way she would say yes. Better not to ask, and to have the illusion that they could be something more continue to live on, if only in reflections and dreams. Best to enjoy today, and at least he would always have the memories after she was gone. 

***

After leaving the Met, they wandered through Central Park to a sushi restaurant Gold knew of. The last exhibit they had seen had been one of samurai armor and swords, and it inspired a desire for the food.

“You certainly know a lot of great restaurants,” said Belle as they left.

“Aye, well, I have an appreciation for fine cuisine,” Gold replied. And so rarely do I have anyone to enjoy it with, he added silently. 

Central Park was lovely, almost magical, in the snow. They paused to watch a cardinal, bright red against the white, perch on the back of a bench. Belle pulled some bread out of her purse, left over from brunch.

Blushing slightly, she explained herself. “The rolls were so good, and they were just going to throw them out, so I may have slipped some of the leftover ones in my bag.”

Gold laughed gently. “No need to defend your actions to me, dearie. I admire thriftiness. And who knows when there might be hungry birds to feed? Our handsome friend on the bench is a northern cardinal.” She shot him an amused look and he shrugged. “I like birds.” 

Belle tore up one of the rolls and dropped some pieces on the bench seat. The cardinal hopped down to peck at the pieces. 

“Here, hold out your hands. See if you can get him to hop on,” she said to Gold, and dropped some pieces in his cupped hands. He held out his hands to the bird, but too abruptly, and it promptly fluttered back to the back of the bench and stood there, regarding them with a cocked head.

“I’m not much good at this type of thing,” Gold admitted sheepishly.

“Nonsense. Try again,” said Belle, gently touching his wrist to guide his hands slowly to just above the bench seat. Her hand was warm, and he had to work to suppress a tremble at her touch. She dropped a trail of breadcrumbs to his hand, and this time the bird followed them, and then tentatively hopped into his cupped hands.

“See? You can do it,” said Belle, beaming at him with such warmth in her eyes. He straightened up slowly, the bird still in his hands, aware that he was probably grinning rather stupidly back at her, but somehow he didn’t care. When she smiled at him, he felt that not much else mattered.

They stood for a moment, Belle and Gold smiling and the bird finishing the bread in his hands. He wished it could last forever. Then the cardinal flitted away, a smear of color against the winter landscape, and they continued on their way through the park, Gold’s arm finding its way around Belle’s waist.

***

As they studied their menus at the restaurant, Gold looked up at Belle. 

“Miss French, how do you feel about unagi, freshwater eel?” he asked. “They make particularly good eel rolls here.”

“I accept your proposal of eel, and, on the premise of being adventurous, raise you the idea of uni, sea urchin. What say you?” Belle grinned mischievously at him, and Gold felt his heart melt a little.

“I accept that proposition, but I have one of my own. If we are to be truly intrepid, I say we up the stakes and order fugu, pufferfish. It’s delicious if prepared correctly but deadly if prepared incorrectly, and one needs a special license to legally prepare it. The sushi chef here is the only one in New York certified to do so.” He raised an eyebrow at her, curious to see her response.

She raised an eyebrow back. “Is that a dare?” she asked playfully. “I always accept dares. Let’s do it. Where’s the fun in life if there’s not a little danger?” And she gently nudged his ankle under the table. 

“I quite agree, dearie,” he said softly, nudging her back. The smile – sexy and playful, and yet daring - she flashed at him was one he had seen before, a long time ago, in a different time and place. The other woman with the similar smile, she would have said something similar in response to his teasing dare, and something contracted in his chest. But best not to dwell on the darkness of the past, not when Belle was right there. There would be enough time for reliving memories later. 

They lapsed back into a pleasant conversation about one of the art exhibits, which lasted until the food arrived. After the sushi had arrived and been sampled and it was agreed that it was delicious, Belle paused in eating to look at Gold. 

“So, tomorrow is the final meeting, when the decision will be announced, yes? Have you decided who will get the contract?”

Gold blinked. He hadn’t expected her to ask about his business, but it stood to reason she was curious. “I… yes, tomorrow is when the decision will be announced, but I… I have yet to decide. Komarchenko’s company would be the…ah, financially smart decision, but…” He trailed off. 

Investing with Komarchenko would provide the biggest returns, so if the decision was to be decided purely on what would make the most money, the choice would be easy. In the past that was how he had made decisions, not because he cared about the money, but because he liked to win. He liked the respect he earned and the fear he could inspire, and he enjoyed outwitting his opponents and cutting deals that benefitted him most of all. Initially it had been something to throw himself into, to try to distract from the pain, but it had become his life. He rather liked the reputation he had built up, and it ensured no one bothered him.

“But might other factors suggest Ivanov to be the better choice?” asked Belle.

Gold tried to search for the right words. “Aye. There are… other reasons to choose Ivanov, but those are not reasons I generally consider in decision-making. It would… surprise people, to say the least.”

He wanted to add that he hadn’t yet come to a decision because when he was with her, for the first time in a very long time those other things seemed to matter. When he was with her, Ivanov seemed like the right choice.

“Well, it’s never too late to change,” said Belle, looking at him but he stared determinedly at his sushi. 

“Do you really think that? You don’t think at some point the hole is too deep to climb out of?” Gold asked her.

“Of course not. It’s never too late to make the right choice. Change is just a choice, and one always has a choice. Sometimes one just has to be brave enough to make the right one. What does it matter what everyone else thinks anyway?” 

Gold sensed she might not just be talking in hypotheticals, but he was saved from responding by the waiter’s inquiry as to whether they would like dessert. They opted against, and soon were back outside, walking the few blocks back to the hotel. The topic didn’t come up again. 

***

Their lovemaking that night was slow and sweet. Gold wanted to take his time to memorize every part of her and every feeling - their lips pressed together, his lips on her skin, her fingers tracing his face, their bodies pressed together – and to file it away for when they were parted. He held her close afterwards and thought how he never wanted to let her go. Maybe, just maybe, he would ask her...and maybe, just maybe, there was the chance she would say yes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm scared for the season finale... I just want a happy ending for Belle and Gold, but it's not looking good...


	8. A Deal and A Fight

 

Gold was habitually an early riser, but the next morning he woke earlier than usual. It was still dark outside when he slid out of bed and showered. He was restless, more so than normal, and, as there were still several hours before the business day began, he decided to go for a walk to try to still his thoughts. He still had yet to decide to whom the investment was going to go.

Gold wandered down 59th street all the way to the East River, and stood by the water, leaning on the railing. Even though the river was a far cry from the ocean he loved, there was something about the water that was placating, and he felt himself relax marginally. He thought back on the week, on Belle, and how the world seemed a different place when he was with her. When they were together he remembered the person he had been all those years ago. He wanted to be that person again, and maybe, just maybe he could put aside the bitterness and anger that had built up over the years.

His eyes followed a pair of seagulls as they wheeled and called above the river, their cries echoing in the cold air. As he watched them, he realized the business decision was not a difficult one, and when the birds flew out of sight, Gold pulled out his phone and made a call. Putting the phone away, he smiled to himself and headed back to the hotel. His heart felt lighter than it had in many years.

At the hotel he picked up his briefcase and wrote Belle a note, and then, still smiling to himself, headed to his offices.

***

Belle woke late the next morning and wasn’t surprised to see that Gold was already gone. Rolling over, she saw that he had left a book and a note on the pillow next to her. The book was _The Count of Monte Cristo_ and note said,

_Belle,_

_The business meetings should be concluded by early afternoon at the latest. I think you will be pleased with my end decision regarding the investments, and I hope that we can celebrate the conclusion of business matters later._

_The novel ­–_ The Count of Monte Cristo – _is one of my favorites. It has all the requisites for a great story – adventure, betrayal, dashing heroes, cowardly villains, pirates, daring escapes, sword fights._

_Until tonight._

Belle smiled fondly at Gold’s note, and after showering and grabbing some breakfast and a glance at the threatening weather outside, she settled in with the book. Reading seemed an excellent way to spend the morning, and she did have a soft spot for adventure stories. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's _The Lost World_ , Jules Vernes' novels, Jack London's stories of Alaska... As much as she loved them, the stories always left her wistful, and wishing she could go out and see the world and do daring deeds. 

***

Gold’s smile lasted until he reached the office building. He didn’t create the reputation he had created by having a silly grin on his face during business hours.  When the elevator reached the floor with his suite offices he strode straight to his office, frowning to see that Gaston and Komarchenko were already in the conference room.

Although Gold had not yet said who would be getting the investment, Komarchenko’s company had seemed the likely choice, and so a meeting had been tentatively set up to finalize details. But nothing was set yet, and Gold would remind them, if necessary, that he was the one who called the shots, and he made the final decision. It was his business, after all.

Right on time, Ivanov knocked on his office door.

“Good morning, Ivanov,” said Gold curtly, his cold business persona firmly in place.

“Good morning, Mr. Gold,” said Ivanov cautiously. The younger man was confused as to why he was there – he, like everyone else, had assumed that Komarchenko would get the investment. “May I ask what prompted your call this morning?”

“You brought your lawyers? Good. Well, if you’ll accompany me to our other conference room – unfortunately the one seems to be occupied – I will be in shortly with my people to discuss our new deal. The money will be going to your company, if you still want it.” Gold allowed himself a thin smile, one very different from the one when he looked at Belle, at the thought of the looks on Komarchenko’s and Gaston’s faces when he broke the news that the former would not be getting the money. Arrogant bastards, the both of them. He really needed to look into finding a new head litigator.

Gold swept out of his office to the other conference room before Ivanov could respond and only when they reached the room and Gold ushered them inside did Ivanov finally manage to say, “This is certainly a surprise, Gold. Most unexpected. But most welcome too. I am so pleased and so very grateful-“

“That will do,” Gold cut him off but there was a trace of warmth in his smile. “I will return shortly with my lawyers and we will figure out the specifics.”

Leaving Ivanov and his lawyers to get settled, Gold went back to the other conference room.

“Ah, Gold, you’re here. Shall we begin?” asked Gaston. He was seated at the head of the table, sprawled in his chair, looking for all the world like he owned the place. Knocking you down a peg is a bonus of all this, thought Gold.

“No, actually. Komarchenko, I’m sorry but it appears you wasted a trip. The investment will not be going to your company.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Komarchenko demanded, standing up, and glaring at Gaston. “I was under the impression that the decision had been finalized.”

“My apologies if that was the case,” Gold interjected, not sounding sorry at all, before Gaston could answer. “But I am the one who makes the final decision, and when this meeting was arranged I had not yet made the final call."

“Who is getting the money? Is it that idiot Ivanov? I expected more-“ Komarchenko said angrily.

“That’s quite enough. I trust you can show yourself out?” Gold had had enough of the man.

Komarchenko swept out angrily, snarling at Gold on the way out, “This was a mistake, you’ll see. This is not how business should be conducted!”

“Gold, what’s going on?” Gaston demanded, standing up.

Gold narrowed his eyes as he turned to his head lawyer. “I had not yet made the final call. It was premature to arrange that meeting.”

“It was Thursday night and you still hadn’t decided. I don't understand - Komarchenko’s company would have offered the highest returns-“

“There were other considerations,” Gold said coldly in a tone that signaled the end of the discussion, and he returned to the other conference room. Gaston followed but his expression was stormy, likely because he was thinking of the size of his paycheck, which though still quite large, would be significantly smaller with the money going to Ivanov than if it had gone to Komarchenko.

They – Gold and his lawyers and Ivanov and his – settled around the conference table and began to discuss the details – where the money would go, what would be expected, what type of returns would be projected. Gold stayed long enough to ensure that things would be concluded satisfactorily and to stipulate some of his terms, and then excused himself. As the head man, he didn’t have to be there for the negotiation of the small details  – he hired people to do that – and afterwards he would carefully read an the finished agreement before signing off on it.

Gold left the building but didn’t return to the hotel. He paused in Central Park and sat on one of the benches, trying to gather his thoughts. No one else was around, and so he savored the quiet and the illusion of being away from the bustle of the city. Not even the cold bothered him, as it wasn't much compared to the Scottish winters he weathered as a boy. 

***

Belle was so immersed in _The Count of Monte Cristo_ that she didn’t realize it was already the afternoon until she heard the knocking on the door.

Curious, as Gold had a key and wouldn’t need to knock, she marked her place in the book and went over to open the door. He heart sank when she saw it was Gaston.

She started to say that Gold wasn’t there, but he pushed passed her to stand in the hallway before she could finish. 

“Oh?” said Gaston, turning to look at her. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know, I thought he was at the offices,” said Belle, not liking how Gaston was looking at her.

“I came to tell him the deal was concluded and to drop off the paperwork he needs to sign.” He cocked his head, studying Belle. “You got him to change his mind, didn’t you? You’re really something. I didn’t think anyone could get through to him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Belle. “We don’t talk about his business.”

“Sure you don’t,” Gaston snorted. “He just happened to walk away from making a lot of money all on his own.”

Belle didn’t say anything, but crossed her arms and wondered if she could just tell him to leave 

Gaston put down the briefcase on a side-table and stepped toward her.

“I still don’t know what you see in him, although I can see what he sees in you,” he said, his eyes running over her body. “If it’s money, I can provide that.”

Gaston continued to move toward her until her back hit the wall. He leaned in, as if to kiss her, but she twisted away.

“I think you need to leave now,” Belle said angrily, and she tried to push him away, but he caught her wrists and laughed and pulled her close.

“Oh come on,” he said, with a smirk. “You’ll sleep with Gold but not with me? I don’t think so. I want to see just why he keeps you around. Trust me, you’ll enjoy it,” he added, attempting to sound seductive.

“Get out. You’re not going to have a job anymore after I tell Gold,” hissed Belle furiously, glaring at Gaston and trying hard stand defiantly and to suppress her trembling. She was angry, but the glint in Gaston's eyes scared her.

But Gaston merely laughed. “You think he’d actually believe you?” And he pushed her against the wall, moving one hand to cover  her mouth and the other inside her shirt.

Belle bit his hand and he jerked back, swearing, an ugly look on his face.

“Little bitch,” he snarled, and hit her.

The pain brought back a flood of memories Belle had tried to move beyond, and she froze against the wall. She knew Gaston would keep hitting her until she gave in, not caring how much he hurt her, and defiance on her part would only make things worse. 

When he advanced on her again, pushing her once more against the wall and leaning into kiss her, she looked away so he only kissed her neck, but otherwise didn’t resist.

***

Gold’s heart was still light, lighter than it had been in many years, and as he got up from the park bench to head back to the hotel, he was looking forward to dinner with Belle and telling her he had made the right choice.

But when Gold pushed open the door to the suite, he froze for a moment, trying to process what he saw in front of him.

Gaston had Belle pressed up against the wall and he was _kissing_ her.

Hot anger – at both of them - flooded through Gold. He pushed back the feeling of betrayal that was there too – he could dwell on that later when they were both gone.

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded coldly, pulling on the cold, calculating persona he had cultivated so well over the years to block out the pain. If this was how things were going to end, so be it.

Gaston moved quickly away from Belle. “I came by to tell you the deal was concluded, but I only found her, and she came on to me,” he said, trying to sound apologetic but coming off as cocky.

A glance at Belle told a different story though. Her eyes were wide and scared and her shirt was untucked and ripped and was that a red mark on her cheek?

“That’s not true,” she whispered, pushing away tear, looking at Gold fearfully.

 Gold felt a new wave of anger hit him. It would have been bad enough if it had been her choice, but this – that Gaston had dared to hurt her – was unforgivable.

“You son of a bitch,” Gold snarled, turning to Gaston, and before the other man could say anything, Gold punched him. It had been a long time since he had been in a fistfight, but at that moment he wanted nothing more than to knock Gaston’s smug smile off his face. Gold’s fist connected, but in his anger he had forgotten his boxing basics and hadn’t formed the punch correctly. Although Gaston reeled back, Gold felt pain shoot through his hand and cursed himself for not taking more time to set up the punch. He couldn’t afford to be sloppy – Gaston was significantly bigger than him.

And, as Gold shook out his hand, Gaston struck back heavily, one fist hitting Gold in the side and the other colliding with the side of his head. Gold staggered back, hitting the wall and dropping his cane.

“Rumple!” He heard the fear in Belle’s voice, and it pulled him out of his daze. With an effort pushed himself away from the wall to face Gaston, trying to balance on his good leg.  

“I’m fine, dearie,” he said, but his eyes never left the other man.

“You old fool,” said Gaston tauntingly, raising his fists. “That wasn’t very smart of you. But let’s see what you can do, if you insist.”

Gold’s face hurt (he could feel it bleeding), his chest was throbbing, and his bad leg burned, but none of that mattered. In the army he had been quite skilled at boxing, but he had also been much younger and had had two good legs. Now, squaring off against Gaston, heavily favoring his good leg, he pushed aside the pain, his fury at Gaston and the desire to protect Belle overwhelming any hurt.

“We will see who the fool is, but my money is on you” Gold drawled, smirking as Gaston’s bravado seemed to flicker. Gaston was a bully and not particularly brave, and Gold hoped that if he seemed confident enough, it would prove unnerving to the other man.   

Gaston threw another punch – he did have strength on his side – but Gold  dodged it and threw back some punches of his own. Those did connect, and Gaston doubled over, groaning, arms wrapped around his middle, leaving his face unguarded. Gold’s next punch connected with Gaston’s face, and he felt more than heard the crunch of bone.

Gaston stumbled back, sitting heavily on the floor. He a hand, the other clutching his nose, fear in his eyes, and implored Gold, “Please, enough! I’m sorry, it won’t-“

“Enough,” Gold cut him off coldly. “I don’t want to hear your groveling, and your apologies aren’t worth anything.” He backed up to open the door to the room. “You will leave now. I never want to see you again. But rest assured, if you ever even think about hurting another woman, I will know, and I will kill you. Now get out.”

Gaston shuffled out the door without a backward glance. Gold shut the door after him, and leaned his forehead against it, taking deep, shuddering breaths. A soft touch on his shoulder caused him to turn around, and there was Belle. She moved closer to him and he put his arms around her, holding her tight.

His bad leg gave way at that moment, and he slid to the floor with a surprised ”umph.” Because he had been hugging Belle, he pulled her down with him, and she ended up sort of sitting sideways in his lap.

“Rumple, are you alright? I’m sorry, I-” she said, concern in her voice, and made to get up.

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart, I’ll be fine,” he assured her, keeping his arms around her. “It’s just my leg. You have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who needs to apologize. Are you alright? I’m so sorry, Belle, I didn’t think he would ever do something like that. I feel-“

“Shhh,” she shushed him and put a finger on his lips. “I’ll be ok, thanks to you.” She leaned against his chest and he could feel that she was still shaking and he tightened his arms around her.

She nestled closer for a moment, but then shifted so she could see his face, and said softly, “You believed me… you didn’t take his word for it.”

“Of course I believed you,” said Gold forcefully, trying to convey with his eyes all he felt.

She looked away. “It’s just… Because I’m a… it’s just no one has ever thought I was worth fighting for before.”

His heart twisted painfully at that and he held her tighter, she leaning against him and his cheek resting on the top of her head. He realized how small she was, and how fragile she felt in his arms and just how much he cared about her.

“Oh Belle, you’re worth so much more than you think.”

***


	9. Stardust

 

“Oh Belle, you’re worth so much more than you think.” Gold wished there was a way to show her just what he thought of her.

She rested her head on his chest and sighed softly.

“It’s just that, well, maybe I just haven’t had the best experience with the men in my life. With people in general, really. My father was in the army, so we moved around a lot when I was younger, and then we settled in the south of England when his service was over. But he started to frequent the pub more and more, and he would get drunk and obnoxious and belligerent, though rarely violent. But Mum got fed up and she left, and then it was just Dad and me.

At first because we would move frequently, and then because of my father, I spent a lot of time in libraries growing up, finding solace and friends in books, especially literature and history. I loved the stories of adventures, whether real or fictional, and always dreamed of going off on my own. I wanted to ride through the desert with Lawrence of Arabia or travel around the world in 79 days or sail with Captain Nemo or explore the Amazon. When it came time for university, Dad tried to guilt me into staying nearby, but I got a scholarship to Columbia, and jumped at the chance. That parting didn’t go well, and I haven’t talked to him since. 

At Columbia I wanted to do Russian literature and history, thinking maybe I’d go onto do a PhD and one day teach. But there was this guy I went out with, and at first he seemed smart and handsome and charming, but then an ugly side emerged.”

Belle’s voice caught, and Gold kept his arms around her to let her know he was there, but he sensed she might want to continue talking without interruption. 

“He… He would force me to do things, and he would hit me if I refused.  He scared me into not reporting him for a while, but when I finally did, the administration didn’t take me seriously. He was so charming, and he said I was just jealous because he was cheating on me, and they brushed me aside. It got to the point where I refused to be in the same classroom as him, and so I started missing classes, and tried to take a semester off, but the scholarship stipulated I could only do that if I had approved medical leave, which I didn’t because they didn’t believe me.

I ended up leaving Columbia, but I wasn’t going to go back to England to my father, and so I tried to stay and make it in NY. I got a job waiting tables, but I had to pay back the scholarship and so it wasn’t easy, and one thing lead to another…”

Gold felt sick and furious and horrified at himself. “Oh Belle…” he said hoarsely. “I’m so sorry…I had-“

“Shhh.” She shushed him again, letting her finger linger on his lips. “You don’t have to say anything. I don’t want you to say anything. I just wanted you to know my past so you can know just how much what you did meant to me.”

She looked at him, and there was such adoration in her eyes that his heart broke a little and when she moved to kiss him he responded in spite of himself.

The kisses were gentle, but when she moved her hand to his face she broke the kiss and moved back. 

“Oh Rumple,” Belle said, concern on her face. “I feel awful – I’ve been sitting here talking and he hurt you-" 

“I’ll be fine, Belle,” said Gold, trying to sound reassuring. “It’s nothing, just some bruises. I’ve walked away from worse.”

She looked at him skeptically. “For ‘nothing’ you don’t look that great. Let me help fix you up. 

And before he could stop her she scrambled to her feet and extended her hand to help him up. He took it and stood up but leaned heavily on the door, his bad leg more painful than usual. Before he had to ask she handed him his cane, which he took gratefully.

“Belle… you don’t have to stay-“ he said quietly, not meeting her eyes, desperately not wanting her to leave but still feeling awful for what he had put her through.

“Nonsense. What happened was not your fault. Now come on.” She gave him a look and grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the bathroom, her tone not allowing for any argument on his part. He let her sit him on the toilet and she wetted a washcloth and started with his hand before moving on to his face. Her ministrations were gentle but it still stung.

Taking a step back, Belle surveyed him. “Well…it looks better, but I wish there was something more I could do.”

Gold reached up to gingerly touch the side of his head. “It should be fine. Head wounds tend to bleed a lot. I… thank you." 

“It definitely did that. Let’s get your shirt off – I want to check your side and the shirt has a lot of blood on it.”

Gold didn’t stop her as she undid his tie and shirt buttons, wincing as he lifted his arm to let her take off the shirt. Belle frowned, and gently ran her fingers down his side, carefully avoiding the ugly bruise that was forming, instead tracing the scars that marked his left side. She had seen them before, but had chosen not to comment.

“Can I ask what happened?” she said softly, her eyes meeting his, her fingers still on his side.

The depth of emotion in her eyes caused him to look away, but he said, very quietly, “Yes. I… let me put on a new shirt, and I’ll tell you.” 

They regrouped on the sofa, Belle curled up next to his good side and Gold started to speak. He spoke haltingly; it wasn’t a story he often told. He was afraid she would think less of him, once she learned the truth, but he wanted her to know.

“After secondary school I joined the army. There weren’t many opportunities for the son of a sheepherder from a tiny Scottish town, and I wanted to see the world. We were tasked with training local law enforcement and soldiers in certain countries in Africa, to try to make them more competent in fighting terrorism and to try to format their armies and governments into something capable of standing up to the other countries and rebel groups and militias backed by the Soviets. We were pretty much setting them up to be pawns in the chess match between the East and West, hoping we could build them up enough to win the edge in the struggle in Africa.

Ivanov’s father Mikhail was in my division. That’s how I know him. Mikhail had a half-sister, Milah, and he introduced us. Milah was a war journalist, bold, reckless, daring, an excellent writer, and we fell in love and got married pretty quickly. She always wanted the most dangerous assignments, and she wouldn’t stand for anyone telling her to be careful, and maybe that’s part of why I loved her – she believed in living life to the fullest and she surely was full of life.

Shortly before my service was due to end – we planned to go to London together afterwards – we both ended up in the same country, us trying to help organize their military, and she on assignment to cover the rebel groups that plagued the countryside. The first day of school there was a national holiday, and there was a big event at one of the main schools in the capital, where the prime minister would speak and it was supposed to be a chance for his new government to show how their country was safe and modern and on the road to prosperity and to joining the West.

The top army brass was there, and somehow I was too, so that they could show off their fancy foreign military friends. Milah was there to cover the event. Shortly before it was due to start, there was a massive explosion in the school, a terrorist attack. She, of course, ran straight in to try to help, with no thought for her own safety. She was someone who would run toward the fire or gunshots, and luck always seemed to be with her, but not that day.

I should have gone after her, but I was never as brave as she was, not when it mattered.

I didn’t run in until after the second explosion, after it was already too late. Then there was a third, and that’s how this happened.”

He motioned to his side and bad leg. Belle had her arms around him, her head resting on his shoulder, and his arms found their way around her. He was grateful for her presence; it made telling the story easier. 

“We found out pretty quickly afterwards that the rebel group was responsible. It turned out that they had connections in the government that had allowed them to pull off such a big attack, and that the government we had been trying to build was full of holes and corruption. I was ready to go after them, to storm the camp even though I was in no condition, but the army put me on a plane back to England with an honorable discharge and I was told that the country was still a valuable ally in the bigger picture, and it wouldn’t do to point out problems that couldn’t easily be solved. I was told the issues would be worked out. A year and several more terrorist attacks later the Western forces left, and give them up for lost. That country still is in bad shape today, no thanks to us. 

In addition to the pain of loosing Milah, I was furious with the British government I had served. I felt betrayed. I had thought I was doing something that mattered, when it turned out the country was such a mess no one knew which way was up and it was likely the weapons we were training the military to use ended up in the hands of the rebel groups that would launch attacks on the villages and further undermine the government’s credibility.

I turned my back on any idea of service and turned to business. It was never about making money; it was about throwing myself into something where there were lots of details but the only thing that mattered was getting the highest returns. It was something I could lose myself in, and so I did. It was a way to be cold and cruel and take out my anger and yet it was an arena in which that behavior was acceptable. I didn’t care whom I undercut or sold out or hurt, because if they couldn’t see the loophole in the deal, if I was able to outsmart them, they deserved it.

It was a way of building walls, to try to block out the pain and anger and shame.

I should have run in after her. 

We should have known what they were planning.

I can still remember that day so clearly.”

“Oh Rumple,” Belle murmured. There’s nothing you could have done. If you had run in sooner, you probably wouldn’t be here now. Is this why Ivanov’s words upset you so much?” 

He nodded and said bitterly, “Aye. Afterwards so many people said I was brave and honorable for running into the building and I hated hearing it. I wasn’t either of those things and she was dead. The rational voice in my head could say all day that there was nothing I could have done, but it can’t outweigh the irrational part, the part that says there was a chance, however small, that I could have saved her, or that I should have died that day too.  That at least then I would have died in the service of something larger than myself, instead of living as a coward.”

“You’re not a coward. You showed me that today,” said Belle fiercely, gently turning his face so he couldn’t avoid her eyes. “It’s not your fault. You are a good man.” 

But he pulled away, shaking his head, a harshness entering his voice. “But I’m not. Enough about me. What’s done is done, for better or worse, and it’s something I’ve learned to live with.”

They decided on pizza for dinner, and Belle ducked out to pick it up. She said she would also pick up Advil, but as Gold sat on the couch waiting for her return, he hardly noticed the pain. He had told her, and she hadn’t judged him.

He would finally be brave, he decided, and would ask if she would go back to London with him. But… he would have to phrase it a way that she didn’t feel obligated, out of some false sense of duty, to say yes. It wouldn’t do to be overbearing, or to make it seem like in any way she owed him. If anything, he owed her. He knew he cared about her a great deal, and would love for her to be a part of his life, but he recognized that she might not feel the same way. He would ask once, and that would be that.

What mattered was what was best for her, whether it was with him or elsewhere.

Or so he told himself, at least. 

*** 

When Belle got back Gold had the TV on and had found a channel showing The Maltese Falcon, and they settled in to eat pizza and watch the movie. 

When the movie was over, Gold turned off the TV and shifted to look at Belle and then looked away.

He cleared his throat, and said hesitantly, “Belle?” 

“Hmmm?” she cocked her head at him, curious why he seemed nervous all of a sudden.

“I was wondering … well… would you want to come back to London with me?”

Belle felt like the bottom of her stomach had dropped. It was what she had hoped for, and yet… She looked at his face, searching for a clue to his feelings. His expression was guarded, but there was a flicker of hope in his features.

Was that all he was going to say?

She stood up abruptly and walked over to the window to look out over the city to try to gather her thoughts.

She so wanted to say yes. She wanted to turn to him and say _Yes, a thousand times yes. But I’m scared because I don’t know what these feelings are I feel for you, I’m afraid you don’t feel the same way towards me, I’m afraid you will never see me as an equal, that my past will always cast a shadow over what might be, that you’ll grow resentful of paying my way for me._

_I’m afraid because what we have now is so perfect that I don’t know if it can exist in the real world, if it can outlast the week. I don’t know if after everything I can believe happy endings are possible._

She didn’t think she would be able to tell him the truth, to tell him the depth of her feelings, because of the chance that he would laugh in her face. She was scared he would frown and tell her she was reading too much into what had taken place between them. 

And so, because it was the easier thing to do, because the easier path to take was to run away, taking with her only memories, she slowly turned back to face him and to tell him she couldn’t accept.

Gold had stood up and watched her as she walked back toward him. There was an pain in her chest and she couldn’t meet his eyes when she spoke.

“I… I don’t think I can do that,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You can’t keep paying my way for me; I wouldn’t be ok with that. When I used to dream of adventures, I never wanted to be the princess in the tower who needed rescuing. I wanted to be the knight slaying the dragon. I don’t know if we – if I could get beyond the fact that I would be the one being rescued in this scenario.  I feel like I’m doing a rotten job of explaining this. It’s not…this week has been so special, it truly has.  I’m sorry-“

_I’m sorry I’m too afraid to do the right thing. You deserve better than that._

Gold looked down and was silent for a minute. When he spoke his voice was quiet and sad.  “It’s ok. There is no need to apologize. I understand.”

But Belle didn’t want him to be so understanding, so accepting of her lame apologies. Or at least she didn’t want to hear it. So she kissed him, hard, and was grateful when he responded.

The kisses were fierce, intense, desperate. It was as if each silently agreed that physical action was better than words to convey and capture the pain of the moment.

She pulled back slightly, breathing heavily, wondering if she was hurting him, but a glance at his face, his eyes dark and full of passion, showed that if she was he didn’t care. He kissed along her neck, biting at a spot above her collarbone. She hoped it would leave a mark. She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling and holding him close.

Belle started to lead him roughly towards the bedroom, their progress impeded by pauses to continue kissing. 

She wanted to make sure the last night was memorable.

***

When Belle woke up the next morning, Gold was sitting at the table, sipping coffee and reading the paper. She took a deep breath before going out to join him. If he were to ask again, she would be honest.

She sat down across from him, all of a sudden nervous to face him.

“Good morning, Belle,” he said quietly, looking up to give her a small smile. 

“Good morning,” she said, just as quietly, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“This is for you,” he said, pushing an envelope across the table at her. The color in his cheeks told her what it was, and she felt herself blushing as she accepted it. It was the money they had agreed on at the beginning of the week.

Belle almost wanted to tell him she didn’t want the money, that he had already given her so much, but that wouldn’t do. As much as she didn’t want the money, she did need it if she was to go through with starting over. She quickly stuffed it in a pocket. She wouldn’t look at it until later, and so it wouldn’t be until that that she would see he had given her twice what they had agreed upon, never minding that he had already paid her half.

“What will you do next?” he asked, an undercurrent of concern in his voice.

“I think I’ll leave New York, maybe go back to Australia, start over,” she said quickly, wanting to reassure him that she wasn’t going to go back to working street corners. “I was thinking I’d go back to university.” 

“That sounds like a good plan,” he said softly. “Russian literature?”

She didn’t trust herself to speak and only nodded. 

They finished their coffee in silence, and then Belle said quietly, ”I guess I’ll gather up my things.”

He looked up quickly, a flash of something in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything and only nodded.

She went into the other bedroom and gathered her bags. Even after the new clothes, she still didn’t have much. That was ok though, it would make moving easier.

When she came out, Gold had come to stand in the hall. She put down her bags and approached him.

“Goodbye Rumple. Thank you…for everything,” she said softly, her voice catching.

He paused for a moment, and she thought maybe, just maybe, would he- But then he inclined his head and simply said, “Goodbye Belle. Good luck.” 

Her blue eyes regarded his golden ones, sadness and something more apparent in both, but neither Belle nor Gold was able to truly open up, and so the moment and opportunity passed.

She kissed him once more and then turned and left, her heart aching, determined not to look back, because if she did, she didn’t think she would be able to leave.

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm sorry. But don't give up, I still believe in happy endings, even if Belle and Gold don't at the moment.
> 
> "If you'll be my star   
> I'll be your sky   
> You can hide underneath me and come out at night   
> When I turn jet black   
> And you show off your light   
> I live to let you shine   
> I live to let you shine 
> 
> But you can skyrocket away from me   
> And never come back if you find another galaxy   
> Far from here with more room to fly   
> Just leave me your stardust to remember you by..."  
> -Boats and Birds (Gregory and the Hawk)


	10. Handprint On My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I've heard it said,  
> That people come into our lives  
> For a reason  
> Bringing something we must learn.  
> And we are led to those  
> Who help us most to grow if we let them.  
> And we help them in return.  
> Well, I don't know if I believe that's true  
> But I know I'm who I am today  
> Because I knew you."
> 
> \- "For Good," from Wicked

 

Six months had passed since they had parted. 

Six long, unhappy months, and now, as Belle got out of a taxi in a fancy neighborhood in London close to where Gold lived, she wondered if there was a chance that she could salvage what they had had.

She had returned to Australia and found a job and planned to start university again in the fall. But there was someone missing from her life, and she had spent several months trying to convince herself she would get over him before realizing she didn’t want to. 

So she had figured out where in London he lived, and had bought a one-way plane ticket. At the time buying a return flight had seemed like a bad omen, but as she stood at the end of his street, she wondered if that had been such a good idea.

Her nerve failing her, she sat in the park at the end of the street and tried to gather her thoughts and courage to actually knock on the door. She had no idea how he would react. He had every right to be angry, and maybe he never felt the same way about her as she did about him. He hadn’t even protested when she told him she couldn’t go back to London with him…

 _Enough,_ she told herself. _I’m here, I’m going to knock on that door. I’m going to tell him._

_I don’t know if this will work, I don’t know what he’ll say, but I do know I have to try. I have to at least give us, whatever “us” might entail, the chance to fail before I write it off completely. Better to try and to fail, than never to know. I’ll be devastated if he turns me away, but it would be worse to live without knowing, with the unanswered questions forever looming in the background._

_There might yet be a chance for a happy ending, and I’m not going to let it slip away._

As the afternoon crept on, Belle reluctantly got up, picking up her backpack. She hadn’t brought much, figuring if it seemed it might work out, she would ask a friend to send over the rest of her things. She would also tell him she planned on staying with a cousin of hers and make it clear that she would find her own way in London without him paying for her. That’s not what she was here to ask for.

She slowly made her way over to his house. It was a beautiful old mews house, in Hampsted and seemed quite fitting for him. She kept repeating to herself that as awful as it would be if he shut the door in her face, that would be better than never knowing.

All too soon she was standing in front of his house. His pink front door caused her to smile slightly, before she realized she had no idea if he was even home or not. _Please let him be home, please let him answer the door when he sees it’s me, please let us have another chance, please-_ She finally raised her hand and knocked. There. It was done. 

Maybe fate was with her, or ignoring her, but she soon heard the tap-tap of his cane, and then Gold was opening the door.

He froze when he saw it was her, and several emotions – surprise, hope, pain - flashed across his face before he settled on one of guarded composure.

“Miss French,” he said, in a slightly strangled tone, and after a moment he asked, more neutrally. “What brings you to London?”

It took her a moment to find her voice. Seeing him brought back all the emotions she had tried to push away and she so wanted to run into his arms and “Miss French” wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “I- I came to see you. I was wondering if we could talk?” she ventured.

Gold inclined his head, and said, still in that neutral tone, “Of course. Perhaps you would like to come in?”

Belled nodded and followed him inside. He didn’t seem overjoyed to see her, but he didn’t seem angry, exactly…

He led the way to the kitchen. The interior of his house was beautiful as well, dark wood and leather furniture, lots of books and antiques, an air of elegance and good taste and history.

“Your home is beautiful,” said Belle as they sat at the kitchen table. 

“Thank you. Would you like a cup of tea or something else to drink?” His tone was polite, guarded.

“No thank you,” she said, biting her lip, and he watched her but didn’t say anything further, and when she didn’t say anything immediately he began studying his end of the table intently. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be, but then again, she couldn’t have expected it to immediately be like the way it was before.

“I came because I wanted to tell you that I made a mistake when I said no in New York,” she said softly. “I was wondering if you would be amenable to the idea of trying again.” She wasn’t going to say more, couldn’t bring herself to say more unless he responded favorably.

At those words he looked up sharply, unreadable emotion in his golden eyes.

In the minute it took him to respond, Belle went through a hundred scenarios of him saying no  - there was someone else in his life, he had never felt that strongly about her, she had hurt him and he didn’t believe in second chances.

But then he nodded, and said quietly, “I would like that. It is good you came today, because tomorrow I’m headed to Scotland for a few weeks. I have a house near Aberdeen, and I try to make it up there as often as possible. Perhaps you would like to come with me?”

Belle’s heart leapt and she tried not to smile too widely. “I would love that. I was planning on staying with my cousin in London, so perhaps I could meet up with you somewhere convenient tomorrow?”

“Or…” and now he wasn’t looking at her again. “Or you could stay here. I have a guest bedroom. It is a long drive and will take the whole day, so we will need an early start. Perhaps that would make more sense, if- if you didn’t mind, that is.”

“I wouldn’t mind at all,” she said, still smiling and choosing to focus on the invitation rather than the fact that he proposed the guest bedroom. “That sounds lovely. Thank you.”

“Not at all,” he said, and finally a small smile tugged up the corners of his mouth.

They had dinner at a small restaurant in the neighborhood. Belle tried to pick up the tab for dinner, but Gold refused, and eventually they compromised with splitting the bill. She wanted to show him she could take care of herself, but he still managed to get the bottle of wine put on his part of the check.

The conversation was light, about books and recent museum exhibits, and while there wasn’t any one thing in particular Belle could put her finger on, something was missing. Gold’s manner wasn’t cold, but he was too courteous, too polite, too much on guard, even more than at the beginning of the week in New York. 

When they returned to his house, he suggested they turn in early, as they had a long day ahead of them. He showed her the guest room and guest bathroom, and after handing her a towel he bid her goodnight and left, and it took all her self-control not to follow him into his bedroom.

The guest room was similar to the rest of the house and the bed quite comfortable. As she sat on the bed she tried to reassure herself that no physical contact was probably the best thing if they wanted to start trying to normalize relations, especially considering how everything had started, but to be so close to him but not with him was almost physically painful. She had missed him so much, and now even though they were in the same house, there was a wall between them.  Maybe going to Scotland would give them a chance to reconnect, to get away from everything.

They left early the next day, before the sun had fully risen. Belle wasn’t surprised to see that Gold had a beautiful old car. The house, the car, the man, it was as if they had all been transplanted from the beginning of the 20th century.

“So, where exactly are we headed?” she asked as Gold started the car.

“We are headed to Aberdeen. Actually, to a small town close by, and my house is outside that town. I enjoy being close to the town, but far enough away that there is still a sense of solitude,” he replied.

 _Of course you do_ , thought Belle, but she didn’t say it out loud.

They stopped for lunch in Yorkshire at a little inn and then continued north. The drive was pleasant enough and very scenic. Between literature and art and the English countryside there were plenty of conversation topics, but something was still off. Any mention of the past six months or of their past or potential future was completely avoided.

After a quick dinner in Aberdeen it was starting to get dark, and they continued on past the city to the small town Gold spoke of, and then he turned off on a small road and then they were arriving at the house. It was a grand old manor house, one that would not have been out of place in a Sherlock Holmes story. The countryside stretched around on all sides around it.

“What a wonderful location,” breathed Belle as they got out of the car. “All the stars, and are those waves?” Away from the city lights it seemed like the whole night sky was on display, and the moon was almost full.

“Aye. I have a fondness for the sea,” Gold answered softly, breathing in the country air deeply and looking up at the sky. “And I like the illusion of escaping from civilization. In the morning you’ll see, the water is not too far from the backdoor.”

They proceeded inside and Belle saw that the interior was similar to his London house – dark wood and elegance and a feeling of timelessness. As with the previous night, after he showed her the guestroom and bathroom, he bid her good night and left quickly before she could stop him.

Belle had to bite her lip to keep from calling after him. Maybe she would have to talk to him, to see if they could move past this. If they couldn’t, if he wouldn’t talk, she didn’t know if this could work, she wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take. It was incredibly hard being around him and yet for him to act as if they were just acquaintances. 

The next morning after she showered Belle headed downstairs to find an empty kitchen. She checked the other rooms downstairs – she wasn’t going to peer into the rooms upstairs – and found a drawing room and what seemed to be a mix between a study and a library and a large open kitchen, but no Gold.

Wondering where he could be, she settled in at the kitchen table with a book, and waited for his return. She hadn’t got too far when she heard the front door open and the smell of fresh bread preceded Gold.

He nodded curly to her and put the bread on the table.

“Good morning,” he said. “There is a bakery in the town that makes the best bread.”

 They ate the bread with butter and jam in silence. It was delicious bread, but Belle couldn’t concentrate on that. She kept darting glances at Gold, but he kept his eyes firmly on his plate, and she began to wonder if it had been a mistake to agree to go with him.

The day passed pleasantly enough – there were some errands to run in town and they strolled along the seashore – and Belle felt a bit better, but things still weren’t right. The connection they had enjoyed at the end of the week in New York was not there. At times, like when they teasingly tested each-other's knowledge at the rare books store in town, it seemed it was just beyond reach, but at other times, like when Gold stared stonily out at the sea during lunch at a cafe, it seemed as if maybe she had imagined the whole thing.

After dinner she suggested a game of chess, as they had never gotten to it in New York. Gold acquiesced and they found themselves locked in quite the battle, as each was a skilled player. Finally when they were each down to only a handful of pieces, Gold was able to maneuver his queen and knight to check-mate Belle’s queen. She was sorry to see the game end, as during it things seemed almost back to normal between them – Gold’s voice was soft, they joked, there wasn’t the sense that he was constantly on guard.

They lingered after they put the pieces back on the board and continued to talk, and Belle began to allow herself to hope, but then Gold stood up abruptly and said, “Well, I think it is time to call it a night. 

Belle’s heart twisted as she watched him head upstairs without saying anything more and then she went up to her own room, but she wasn’t tired. She walked over to the window to look up at the stars and as she traced ursa major in the night sky, the power flickered off. Shrugging and figuring it was better for star-gazing, Belle continued to stand at the window, and a few minutes later there was a knock at the door.

“Yes?” she called, curious to see what he might want to say, not daring to hope.

“I brought you a candle,” sad Gold cautiously, carful to only advance into the room enough to put the candle on the dresser. “I’m afraid power outages are rather common, as the house has trouble adapting to the new century. Good evening.” And he turned to go.

Belle bit her lip. She had had enough of his quiet, guarded courteousness, of the wall between them.

“Rumple,” she called softly after him and he paused but didn’t turn. “I miss you. I miss what we had. 

For a moment she thought he would continue out without answering, but then he turned. His face was difficult to make out in the dark but there was a hardness in his voice when he spoke. “I missed you too, these past months.” There it was, the anger and hurt underneath the surface. 

And then he was gone, and Belle felt tears gather in her eyes. But no, now was not the time for tears. Now was the time to fix this. She had let it go for too long.

Belle blew out the candle and left her room and walked down the hallway towards his. His door was ajar, and she gently pushed it open. He was standing by the window, silhouetted in the moonlight, and, as the door creaked, his figure stiffened but he didn’t turn.

She walked slowly over to stand next to him.

“Hey,” she said softly.

He merely regarded her impassively, a guarded expression on his face.

“I… I should have told this you right when you asked,” she said quietly, looking at the moonlight on the floor and not meeting his eyes. “But I was afraid. I wanted to say yes, I so wanted to, but I was scared of the intensity of my feelings for you. What we had seemed too perfect. I was afraid something like that couldn’t last in the real world, that something like that could only end well in a fairy-tale or novel. And the irrational, insecure part of my brain whispered that you would laugh at me, that you would always hold my past against me, that you would get tired of me, that you would never see me as an equal.”

She finally looked up into his face. Enough moonlight came through the window so that she could see that his face had softened as she had spoken and there was hope in his eyes, but pain too. He looked like he wanted to say something, and so she held up a finger. There was something she wanted to say, and if she didn’t get it out now she wasn’t sure if she would.

Taking a deep breath, she said, “I was scared, and so I ran away. I was scared, because… because I love you. I had to come back, at least to tell you that.”

“Oh Belle…” he murmured. He closed his eyes for a long moment and took a deep breath. “I… I love you too.”

And he moved toward her and she towards him and then her face was buried in his chest and her arms were around him and he had his around her and was holding her tight.

She wanted to stay in his arms forever, but she pulled back and looked at him.

“Rumple,” she said very softly, her heart beating too fast, hands on his chest, smoothing his jacket lapels, their foreheads almost touching. “I’m so sorry for hurting you, but if you can forgive me… if you ask me again I’ll say yes.”

“Of course I can forgive you. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to convince you to come with me in the first place,” he replied, just as softly. “Will you stay, this time?” And there was a flicker of pain in the question that he tried hard to mask, but she caught the flash of insecurity.

“Yes,” she whispered, her heart lifting. She would answer the unasked question in his eyes, to mitigate the fear that he wouldn’t put into words. “You… you’ll have to trust me when I say I want to stay with you now and always, because I love you, and I’ll have to trust you not to hold my past against me, because you’re able to see beyond that. I don’t think either of us are much good at this trusting thing, but I have faith that together we can make this work.”

“I think we just might be able to do that,” Gold murmured, and the warmth was apparent in his voice even if she couldn’t make it out on his face.

***

 


	11. Happy Endings Are Possible

Belle browsed through the selection at the used bookstore in town, smiling to herself as she gently ran her fingers along the book spines, waiting for Gold to return from the errand he had ducked out to run.

It had been two weeks since she told Gold she loved him and he had returned those words, and those weeks had been so wonderful sometimes she wondered if they could really be real. They had spent their days strolling along the beaches and visiting the castles and other small towns nearby and passing lazy afternoons at the cafés by the sea. In the evening they worked their way through Gold’s wine collection and dueled on the chessboard or stayed up late reading together on the sofa. Although Gold still won most of their chess matches, Belle had managed to beat him on several occasions and hadn't let him forget it. Through it all they got to know each other again, in a way they hadn’t been able to before.

There were soft kisses and gentle touches, small gestures and glances to confirm and reassure each of the other’s presence, but nothing more. There was the shared but unspoken consciousness that they had all the time in the world to be together. The guest room went unslept in though, and they spent the nights curled up together, taking comfort and pleasure in the mere presence and closeness of the other.

***

12 days earlier

They returned from dinner, and Gold settled in on the sofa with a book, but Belle lingered in the doorway. She would have to say something to him, as she couldn’t allow him to continue to pay for everything, but she didn’t know how to say it. When she didn’t sit down, Gold looked up questioningly. 

“Is everything alright, love?”

“It’s just…” she struggled to find the right words as she walked over to sit on the sofa next to him. “I can’t let you continue to pay for everything. I appreciate it, but-“

“But I want to,” Gold interjected, putting his book down. “Belle, I love you. That, and how I think of you, will never change. But let me do this for you, for us. And I invited you here. The proper thing is for me to pay.”

Belle sighed and scowled at him and shoved a pillow at him, which he deftly caught. With a grudging smile, said, "I love you too, so much. If you insist. It doesn’t seem I can convince you otherwise anyways.” He smiled at that. “But I plan on finding a job when we get back to London.”

At that he had bit his lip and said quietly, “You… you once said you wanted to pursue a doctorate in Russian literature. If that is still your dream, that is what you should do.”

Belle felt her stomach drop. She couldn’t possibly accept such generosity. As she opened her mouth to refuse and shook her head, Gold quickly moved to take her hands in his.

“Belle,” he said earnestly. “Love and trust are the basis of what we have together. I love you now, I’ll love you always, and I want for you to trust me when I say that will never change, that I'll never think less of you. I want for you to pursue your dreams. And it so happens that I can support you in doing that, and it would make me so happy to do so. Please.”

She felt tears gather in her eyes and moved to hug him tightly. That he had been able to say those things - to mention love and trust - was what convinced her to accept. After she had collected herself, she moved back slightly and said, her voice breaking, “Oh Rumple, that would be wonderful. I- Thank you so much-“

He kissed her forehead and smiled and he didn't need to say anything more. 

She smiled back at him, her heart full, and snuggled in next to him with the book she was reading.

***

As Gold left the jewelry store, he took the long way back to the bookstore, his hand unconsciously straying to the small box in his pocket. He would do it that night, he decided. He would ask and try to show her just how much she meant to him.

It had been a long six months, but he had so resigned himself to the idea of life without Belle (what could he possibly offer to someone like her?) that when she had showed up on his doorstep he had frozen. He hadn’t been able to believe that she had actually returned, and a baleful voice in his head whispered that she would just leave again. It wasn’t until she had opened up and said those three magic words that he had dared to hope and to give voice to the sentiment he had known to be true since New York. 

Gold took a deep breath as he rounded the corner to the block where the bookstore was and tried not to smile too broadly. It wouldn’t do to give the game away. 

As they walked down the main street and decided where to have lunch, he had to fight not to overly dwell on wondering if the universe really would grant a second chance for a happy ending to someone like him. 

For dinner that evening he suggested a picnic, and Belle happily agreed. They walked out behind the house to sit on the bluffs overlooking the ocean and enjoyed bread and cheese and salami and a good bottle of wine. The tall grass provided comfortable seating and the special smell of the countryside in summer and sound of the ocean were the perfect accompaniments for a romantic evening. As the stars twinkled into being, they sat together looking out over the ocean, Belle leaning against Gold, and he told her of Scottish folklore, of the heroes of the highlands from times long past. 

“You really love it here, don’t you?” she asked, smiling at him. 

He bit his lip, but then figured that she gave him as good an opening as any other he was likely to get. “Aye, the history, the land, the people, the ocean… Being here is the closest I’ve been able to come to feeling at peace. Until I met you, that is.”

Gold somewhat awkwardly shifted to kneel on one knee, sending a silent prayer to whatever gods might be listening that his bad leg not give out, and reached into his pocket to pull out the little box. 

“When I am with you, I feel that my life is complete, and the shadows of the past recede. I would like nothing more for you to always be by my side. Belle French, I love you so much. Will you marry me?” 

There was enough moonlight that he could see she was smiling broadly, and he slowly let out the breath he hadn’t known he had been holding.

“Oh Rumple,” said Belle, her voice breaking. “Yes, yes yes. I would like nothing more than to always be with you.”

Willing his hands not to shake as he reached for hers to slide the ring on, he forced himself to say the thing he felt he had to say.

“Belle… I don’t want you to think that I’m asking because I’m afraid you’ll leave or-“

But then she was kissing him and this time he did fall over, but it was ok because Belle was sprawled on top of him and she was kissing him and he had his arms around her and the tall summer grass was soft.

“Enough,” she murmured. “I love you. Together we can weather any storm that comes our way.”

“Together,” he murmured back, not quite believing she had said yes.

“Always,” she replied, pushing some hair off his forehead and letting her fingers lightly trace over his jaw and he shivered delightfully at her touch. 

They lay there for a moment, both smiling at the other, and then she was kissing him again and deepening the kiss. He shifted so that he was on top, and paused, wanting to capture the moment in memory, wishing it could last forever, not wanting it to be over too quickly. 

Belle seemed to feel similarly, and she reached to stoke his cheek and said softly, “Oh Rumple… I’m so happy right now.”

“As am I, my love, as am I,” he said, looking down at her and wondering how he had been so fortunate. 

But then her hands were tangling in his hair to pull him in for a kiss and his hand slipped under her shirt and he delighted in how she reacted to his touch and it was a while before he thought about anything in too much depth. 

***

Later as they stood up to head back to the house, they paused to stand together, arms around each-other, and to look up at the sky. Night had fully fallen, and as they were far from any light sources, a multitude of stars were visible.

“I’m so glad I get to wake-up next to you every morning,” she said quietly, her head still resting on his shoulder. 

He smiled and kissed her forehead. “And to wake up next to you every morning is all I could ever ask for.”

She smiled back at him, and they slowly walked back to the house, hand-in-hand, under the starry night sky.


	12. Epilogue, Part One: Exciting News

 

For their one-year anniversary (and because they hadn’t gone on a honeymoon) Gold and Belle went to Russia. It was August, and they would return just in time for Belle to get settled before classes started. She would be starting a Russian Studies program at Oxford in the fall, and would be commuting between London and Oxford on the days she had classes.

They had been in Russia for about a month, part of the time in Moscow and the rest in St. Petersburg. Their days had been full of visits to museums and monasteries, castles and churches. It had been a lovely month, as their tastes were so in tune they were frequently of one mind in regard to what to do, and each was very pleased to have the other as a conversation partner, whether for conversation about history or politics or art.

Over dinner on their last evening, Gold detoured from their discussion about 19th century art to ask Belle what type of wine she would like.

 “I think I’ll do without tonight, actually,” she answered.

“Oh?” he asked, looking up from the menu. “Is everything alright, dear?”

“Oh yes,” she responded with a smile. “Everything’s just fine. I’m just not in the mood for wine at the moment.” And she nudged his foot under the table and he nudged her back and they continued their discussion about the latest exhibition at the Hermitage. They had visited the famous art museum several times over the course of their visit in St. Petersburg, but never tired of it.

There was a reason why she didn’t want to drink, but she wasn’t going to tell him, not yet. She wanted to confirm whether or not her intuition was correct first. 

After dinner they slowly walked back to their hotel along one of the canals, and Belle couldn’t stop smiling. The center of St. Petersburg was a stunning example of 18th century architecture and the weather perfect and she was so happy to be walking through the wonderful city with Gold.

When they got back to the hotel room, Belle excused herself to use the bathroom. She had had a hunch before they left, and so she was prepared to test her hypothesis. 

While Belle was in the bathroom, Gold stood on the balcony and looked out over the city. Even at night it was beautiful. St. Petersburg was one of his favorite places in the world – the culture, history, literature, architecture, museums, the people – and he was delighted to be able to share it with Belle.

He heard Belle come out of the bathroom and come to stand behind him. She wrapped her arms around him and rested her chin on his shoulder.

“Hey Rumple,” she murmured into his ear.

He turned and pulled her into a kiss. She let herself get lost in the kiss and melted into him – their bodies really did fit well together - but then she pulled back slightly so she could look at his face, her hands on his chest.

“I have something exciting to tell you,” she said softly. She was almost nervous to tell him, just because of the magnitude of the news.

“What is it, my love?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow and smiling that small smile she had come to realize he reserved for her and caused her stomach to flip flop.

“I’m pregnant,” she said quietly.

His eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat and it took him a moment to find his voice.

“That’s such wonderful news,” Gold murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion. “That’s the best news. I…Belle… I’m so so happy…”

“I’m so excited for everything to come. To be able to start a family with you… I couldn’t ask for more,” Belle murmured back, smiling broadly back at him. 

They stood close for a long minute, foreheads almost touching, smiling at each other and savoring the moment and not needing to say anything more.

~Five Months Later~

Belle looked up from _Master and Margarita_ as she heard the front door open. It was a wet, windy day, perfect for curling up with a mug of tea and a good book, and she had spent the afternoon doing just that. 

Gold was home from work. Putting aside the book, she got up to greet him, excited to tell him about her day.

“Hey,” she said, as he came into the entrance hall.

“Hello,” he said, smiling back at her. He shrugged off his overcoat, wet from the rain, and hung it up before he moved to hug her.

“How was the doctor appointment? I’m sorry I couldn’t be there, I-“ he began as they pulled apart, his hands still on her waist to keep her close.

“Don’t worry about it,” she brushed aside his apology. “You’ve tried hard to come to the ones you can. I know you’re busy at work. It went well – the doctor said everything looks good. Do… do you want to know what it will be?”

“You mean if we’ll have a boy or a girl?” 

She nodded, and he grinned and said, “I suppose you might as well tell me. I doubt you’ll be able to keep it a secret for the next few months.”

“We’re going to have a girl!” Belle was almost bouncing with excitement.

“That’s fantastic,” said Gold, his voice catching, running his hands gently over her stomach. “I hope she will grow up to be just like her mother.” And he pulled her in for another hug.

As they were eating dinner, Gold said, “A little while we were talking about potential names, and we both thought ‘Sophia’ was nice for a girl. I still think so… what about you?”

Belle grinned. “I was just thinking about that. I do love that name. So ‘Sophia’ it is?”

“Aye. Let’s say so.” Gold reached across the table to briefly grasp her hand and they shared a glance, a glance of joy and love, of anticipation for the times ahead and understanding built on a shared past.

***

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone guess Belle's good news before she told Gold? :) I'm thinking one more chapter, because as much as I've enjoyed writing the story, I guess it has to end at some point. But if anyone has any thoughts on future chapters, do let me know!


	13. Epilogue Part Two: One Love, One Lifetime

 

“There! All done, I think,” said Belle, putting the last touches on the cake on the counter.

“Yay! And the icing is delicious,” said Sophie, grabbing the bowl and sticking a finger in to sample it and dancing away to avoid Belle’s attempt to snatch it.

Belle just smiled and shook her head at her daughter and started to put the dishes in the sink to begin cleaning up.

“I suppose birthdays are special occasions and allowances can be made. Be sure to put it in the sink when you’re done.”

“Yes,” said Sophie seriously. “Especially tenth birthdays. They only come once-“ She quickly put the bowl on the counter as they heard the front door open and ran over to meet Gold as he came in.

“How’s my birthday girl?” he asked, smiling and kneeling to hug her. 

“Mum and I made a cake!” she announced proudly, pulling him into the kitchen. “Guess what type?”

He straightened to hug Belle, and then turned back to his daughter. “Hmm…,” he said, pretending to think.  “Maybe broccoli cake?”

Belle hid a smile and Sophie made a face. “No! Stop being silly. Guess again!”

Gold grinned. “Well… it couldn’t be Black Forest cake, could it?”

“Yes! Of course it is!” Sophie announced.

“That’s my girl! Like father, like daughter,” Gold said and they high-fived. “And how’s my other favorite lady?” he asked, turning to Belle.

“Pretty good. We baked the cake this afternoon, and I think it came out all right. And we’re having Indian food tonight, Sophie’s favorite.” Belle smiled at him and kissed his cheek and they stood together for a moment.

“That all sounds wonderful,” said Gold and he reluctantly moved away to start to set the table with Sophie.

Dinner passed much as it normally did – conversation was part current events, part inquiries about their respective days (how school was going for Sophie, how teaching was going for Belle (she now taught at Oxford), how work was for Gold) – and the cake proved to be a success.

As they were finishing with the cake, Belle handed Sophie an envelope.

“Happy Birthday, sweetheart, from Mum and Dad.”

Sophie ripped open the envelope and read the card before turning her attention to the tickets that fell out.

“We’re going to see Phantom of the Opera?! Thank you so much!” She jumped up from the table to run around to hug Belle and Gold.

“On Friday we’ll have a nice dinner somewhere downtown and go to see the show.” Belle smiled at her daughter as she returned the hug.

“I’m so excited!” Sophie couldn’t stay still.

“And now we’ll never hear the end of that music,” Gold muttered to Belle. She grinned and whispered back, “Don't look at me, it was your idea, after all.”

Gold smiled and shook his head, and then pulled a small wrapped package out of his briefcase. “I actually have something else for you too,” he said, handing the present  to Sophie. 

She quickly unwrapped it and a leather-bound book fell out.

“ _The Dark One and the Princess_ ,” she read from the title page. “Ooh, a fairy-tale? Thank you, thank you! Can we read it tonight? We can take a break from Harry Potter. Will you read it because you do the voices?”

Gold and Sophie were working their way through the Harry Potter series, with Gold doing an array of voices. Sophie loved stories with magic and adventure, and so Harry Potter was perfect. Gold figured maybe they’d move onto Lord of the Rings at some point.

“Haha, of course we can. I saw it in the old antique store near the office, and I know how much you love the Beauty and the Beast Disney movie. This is another version of the story. The illustrations are beautiful,” said Gold. “Let’s just clean up from dinner first.

“Ok, let’s clean up quickly though!” And she disappeared into the kitchen with some of the dishes.

Belle and Gold exchanged a smile at her enthusiasm and then got up to help.

Shortly after, they all (Sophie insisted Belle join them too) settled on her bed, with Sophie in the middle holding the book and the cat on Belle’s lap.

Gold cleared his throat and began reading.

“ _Once upon a time, in a land far far away, there lived a prince. He had the chance to be a hero, but in the moment that mattered the most his courage failed him, and as punishment for his cowardice he was placed under the darkest of curses. Although with the curse came great power, he was doomed to remain cursed and alone for all eternity. Soon his original name was forgotten and he was known only as The Dark One._

_He was often sought out by the peoples of the land for help, and he was always willing to strike a deal. One day the call came from a small kingdom besieged by ogres._

_“Aye, I can win your little war for you,” the Dark One said, standing in the throne room. “For a price, of course. Something special. Her.” And he pointed at the Princess. He didn’t expect them to agree – the proposal was merely for his own amusement._

_But the Princess boldly stepped forward. “Very well,” said she. “I will go with you.” The King protested and the palace guards and the Princess’s betrothed rushed to stand between them, but she held up a hand and said levelly, “No one decides my fate but me.” Turning to the Dark One, she said, “If this will save the Kingdom, I am yours.” And so they left…”_

Belle smiled as she settled in to listen. Listening to Gold reading to Sophie was one of her favorite things - he did do the voices very well and always chose excellent books and she loved the familial scene. Her own happy ending. For a long time she had never thought she would be so lucky. And yet… she watched Gold bring the Dark One to life, with a sing-song voice and exaggerating his Scottish accent and elaborate hand gestures and she felt her heart fill. He was as wonderful and charming and handsome as ever, and over the years her love for him had never dimmed.

The story continued, as the Dark One and the Princess returned to the Dark Castle and initially she was the maid, but they slowly became friends and then more. But as the Dark One realized what he felt for the Princess, he decided to let her go, because he was sure she could never return such feelings and, because he loved her, he wanted her to be free. And so she left, but because she loved him too, she decided to go back. But her betrothed couldn’t accept that, and beat her back to the castle, where, with silver-tipped arrows, he tried to kill the Dark One. At first the Dark One didn’t put up a fight because without the Princess he didn’t care, but then, just in time, she returned. And in the entrance hall of the Dark Castle, the Princess kissed the Dark One, and with the kiss of True Love, the curse was broken.

“ _And so they lived happily ever after_.” Gold finished the story and closed the book.

“That was great! I loved it,” said Sophie, stifling a yawn. “We’ll have to read it again!”

“Tomorrow. Now I think it’s bedtime. Goodnight sweetheart, happy birthday.” Gold and Belle got up, the latter carefully dislodging the cat, and took turns kissing Sophie goodnight before heading out. 

“Good night, Mum and Dad. I love you guys,” Sophie said sleepily as Belle tucked her in.

“And we love you,” said Belle and she kissed her forehead.

Gold put the book on the night table and added “So much,” softly as he closed the bedroom door behind them.

“That was a lovely present,” said Belle, linking arms with Gold as they went into their bedroom.

Gold shrugged. “The story… it’s somewhat like our story, isn’t it? Love, but they don’t realize what it is, and he lets her go…”

Belle searched his face. Over the past ten years guilt and insecurity had surfaced due to their past, never insurmountably and not often, but enough so that each knew what to look for in the other, and how to dissuade the other’s fears. But Gold just looked thoughtful.

“Yes, and then she comes back and they live happily ever after. Love does conquer all. And I love you, so much,” said Belle meaningfully, stroking his cheek. “But…” she added, grinning and nudging him and trying to lighten the mood. “You were quite a good Dark One.”

“It’s all in the voice, dearie!” Gold said with a hand flourish and a smile, reverting to the sing-song voice he had used during the reading. “I could be the Dark One. Rumplestiltskin, at your service.”

He bowed elaborately and Bell snorted with laughter.

“How dare you laugh at the lord of the Dark Castle?” He struck a pose. “But, if I am he, will you be my princess?” With an exaggerated gesture and another half bow, he offered her his hand.

She laughed as she took it and he twirled her around before drawing her to him and kissing her.

“I suppose I could be a princess, for you, my prince,” said Belle murmured seductively in his ear, her arms finding their way around his neck.

“Lady Belle,” he murmured back, his voice roughening. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her close and kissed along her neck. “I like the sound of that. 

“Lord Gold,” she breathed, her voice catching as he reached the sensitive spot beneath her ear. She kissed him soundly and backed up to the bed, pulling him down on top of her.

Later Gold lay with Belle in his arms, her head on his chest. By her stillness and quiet breathing, he figured she was asleep. He couldn’t quite fall asleep, but he couldn’t quite place what it was that was keeping him awake. He was so happy – the past twelve years he had been so happy – and yet sometimes he would think back to that night in New York, and how easily events could have been different. If the driver had shown up, if he hadn’t gotten lost, if she hadn’t been out that night… But he shook his head. He didn’t like to think of that, to think of how close they came to missing each-other. Fate had been on their side, and they had gotten their happy ending. And that was all that mattered. 

He kissed the top of her head and said softly, “I love you, Belle.”

“And I love you too, Rumple,” came a sleepy reply.

He blinked, surprised, and smiled and closed his eyes.

***

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for following along and commenting. I really enjoyed writing the story, and I hope you enjoyed reading it. Maybe if there's interest I'd write out the Dark One and the Princess story, and that would be the final chapter, but I think this is just about it. I'm sorry for it to end, but I suppose everything must come to an end eventually. Thanks for reading!


	14. The Dark One and the Princess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for fun! :) Hope y'all are well as the summer winds down!

 

***

“ _Once upon a time, in a land far far away, there lived a prince. He had the chance to be a hero, but in the moment that mattered the most his courage failed him, and as punishment for his cowardice he was placed under the darkest of curses. Although with the curse came great power, he was doomed to remain cursed and alone for all eternity. Soon his original name was forgotten and he was known only as The Dark One._

_He was often sought out by the peoples of the land for help, and he was always willing to strike a deal. One day the call came from a small kingdom besieged by ogres._

_“Aye, I can win your little war for you,” the Dark One said, standing in the throne room. “For a price, of course. Something special. Her.” And he pointed at the Princess. He didn’t expect them to agree – the proposal was merely for his own amusement._

_But the Princess boldly stepped forward. “Very well,” said she. “I will go with you.” The King protested and the palace guards and the Duke, to whom the Princess was betrothed, rushed to stand between them, but she held up a hand and said levelly, “No one decides my fate but me.” Turning to the Dark One, she said, “If this will save the Kingdom, I am yours.” And so they left together to go to the Dark Castle._

_“You will cook and clean and serve me tea,” said the Dark One, sitting at the head of the table in the Great Hall and watching the Princess bring in the tea set. “And skin the children I hunt for their pelts.” The Princess looked up, frightened, and dropped the teacup she had been holding._

_“That last one was a joke, dearie, a quip,” he said. He wasn’t_ that _type of monster, despite popular belief._

_The Princess picked up the cup. “Oh no, it’s chipped. I’m sorry, you can hardly see it...,” she said, scared of how he would react._

_A strange look passed over his face. “It’s just a cup, dearie. S’no matter.”_

_As the weeks passed their relationship progressed from that of master and servant to something else, perhaps friendship. The Princess would clean, but they would drink tea together and talk. The Princess learned he had been a man once and had had a son, but had lost him. Sometimes she would bake cakes, and sometimes he would give her flowers. The Dark One learned that the Princess had wanted to see the world and loved to read and he showed her the library in the Dark Castle and was sorry she would never get to travel._ _  
_

_One day, as the Princess was cleaning, she tried to take down the heavy curtains the Dark One had nailed over the windows. “I think you put them up because you think you’re uglier than you are,” she said, as she stood on a ladder and tugged at the curtain. "What did you do,_ nail _them shut?"_

_"Yes," he said simply, amusedly watching her attempts._

_But then she tried too vigorously to pull at the curtain, and lost her balance and fell, but the Dark One moved quickly and caught her. For a moment he held her in his arms and their eyes met, but then he abruptly, almost rudely, put her down._

_“I’ll put the curtains back up,” said the Princess, somewhat embarrassed, but the Dark One shook his head. “I’ll get used to the light,” he said._

_Later that night he pondered the feeling he had felt when he held her in his arms, the surge of emotion when their eyes met, and realized he had fallen in love with the Princess. He felt shaken; he hadn't thought he was still capable of love.  But as much as he might love her, as he watched her go about the castle, he knew what he had to do. He had to let her go._

_So the next day, as they had tea, he asked the Princess if she missed her family. She shrugged and said she had made her choice and would live by it. The Dark One shook his head, and said that if she would like to, she could return home to visit, and the Princess eagerly prepared to leave._

_He watched her ride off from the tallest tower until he could no longer see her and felt a deep pain in his heart. He missed her presence in the castle and their conversations and felt empty. But it had been the right thing to do, even though it was likely she would never return._

_The Princess rode back to her father’s lands, and was reunited with her family. But something wasn't right. She realized she missed the Dark One and their life together. Her decision to return was not acceptable to her father or to the Duke, and the Duke raced her back to the castle and got there first._

_Armed with silver arrows, the Duke was determined to slay the Dark One, and he believed that would release the Princess from the spell he was sure she was under. He found the Dark One in the Great Hall of the Dark Castle, staring listlessly out the window._

_“Turn around and fight, Dark One. I am here to end your reign of terror,” declared the Duke, notching an arrow._

_The Dark One turned and regarded him but did nothing. Even though silver could hurt him, he normally would use magic to protect himself, but without the Princess nothing seemed to matter._

_The Duke’s arrow hit him in the chest, and he staggered, but at that moment the Princess arrived._

_“No!” she shouted, bursting into the hall. “Stop!”_

_“You…you came back,” rasped the Dark One._

_“For you,” said the Princess._

_And for a moment their eyes met, and they forgot all else._

_But then Duke notched another arrow. “In a moment, my dear, you’ll be free,” he said snidely to the Princess, and drew back his arm.  But the Princess shoved him and arrow went awry and with a wave of his hand, the Dark One turned the Duke into a rose._

_The effort cost him dearly though and he fell to the floor and the Princess ran to his side. The silver was acting fast._

_“You can’t die…” she murmured, cradling his head in her lap. "I won't let you."_

_“If it is my time...to know that you came back is enough…” The Dark One’s voice trailed off and his eyes closed._

_“You can’t leave me because I love you,” whispered the Princess, and she kissed him._

_As their lips touched, there was a pulse of magic, of True Love._

_The Prince who had been the Dark One sat up and slowly said, “You broke the curse. I love you too, so much.” And he kissed her._

_Together the Prince and Princess lived happily ever after together and traveled the world and their love never faltered."_

_***_

And Gold closed the book. 

Sophie smiled. “I still love the story, as much as I did when you first gave it to me. The story, the illustrations...”

“It is fitting that we read it once more tonight, before you’re off to university tomorrow,” said Gold, smiling back at her. “Mum and I are so proud of you. You should try to get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

And he stood and kissed her forehead and bid her goodnight.

***

 


End file.
